


The Consequences of a Bad Idea

by Gaylagher



Series: The Consequences of a Bad Idea [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, platonic marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaylagher/pseuds/Gaylagher
Summary: Mandy was strapped with a kid, and Ian felt the need to help financially. He had offered to do that didn't seem great at all--marriage for his benefits, all platonic however. He didn't know that he would fall in love with Mickey Milkovich, his fucking brother-in-law.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay.. stick with me.
> 
> there will be no romance between ian and mandy. they are best friends and only got married for the kid. granted, this is the weirdest fanfic i've ever done, but it struck me and i couldn't not type it up.

Mandy and Ian have always been best friends. They had got off on the wrong foot, but switched feet and have been content ever since. Ian had watched her grow; like a tiny plant into a beautiful tree, with branches that symbolized a story in her life, which only held beautiful leaves that grew in her hardships. The roots of her were always sturdy, even when the strongest wind threatened to blow her over.

Mandy had watched Ian grow from a closeted gay to someone who was out and proud, and learned to love himself. They both had their rise and falls, but they powered through together, and that’s all that mattered.

She was closer to him than any other family member was—even Lip. She understood him in ways that his siblings didn’t, and even though he had inherited his mother’s bipolar, her perspective of him hasn’t changed like it changed his family’s. He was still the Ian with amber locks falling on his pallid skin, only he got rid of the bangs and got taller and sturdier.

Mandy had been on the peak of her life—had a boyfriend, a job, and she was pregnant. But life had its own ways to make you fall from the mountain you climbed onto. And Mandy’s boyfriend leaving her shortly after she had her kid was her losing her balance while she was perched on a mountain. And Ian had to watch her fall, and complain about the injuries.

“I don’t understand, he was okay with the kid, and was supportive throughout my pregnancy, and now he just.. up and leaves! For this chick, _Stephanie._ ” She spat out the name like it was bitter and disgusting in her mouth—like it looked edible but tasted horrible. “Now _Stephanie_ and him are fucking into the sunset, probably with fucking protection and birth control, which she can afford, while I’m strapped with a kid I didn’t plan for.”

A song was playing in the background of the bar they were at, and Ian paid half attention to the song, because _fuck_ it was catchy.

She had been inebriated and rambling about her predicament for the past half hour. Ian, who was usually very patient, was finally losing it. It was slipping out of his grip like it was water, escaping through gaps of his fingers. “Him and this Stephanie chick aren’t worth it, Mands,” Ian sighed wearily while she chugged down another shot.

“Keep ‘em coming,” she informed the bartender. “It’s not that though! I can’t afford to have my kid now. I would put him up for adoption but I got attached to the little shit, plus, you’ve told me about the horror stories in foster care. No fuckin’ way I’m putting Gabe through that. But even if he was here with me, he’d be poor as shit and suffering the way _I_ did, but with less Terry and drugs.”

Ian had learned that Mandy ran her mouth a lot. It was running a hundred miles per minute and Ian had tried (keyword: _tried_ ) to keep up. But all he could register was ‘Terry and drugs’. He knew Gabe was in good hands—well, as good as it got in the Milkovich household. Her brothers were taking care of the child and even though they were inexperienced with children, they weren’t as scary as Terry. So Gabe wasn’t in Terry’s arms and that was good enough for Mandy.

“So it’s the money you’re worried about?” Ian inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

And—as if a lightbulb had flicked on right on top of Ian’s head—an idea formed in his brain. It wasn’t a great one, but it was one nonetheless. And it had escaped the clutches of his consciousness which, by the way, was screaming _‘please no, it’s a terrible idea’._ “Marry me.”

"I'm sorry," she responded. “Am I hearing things or did you tell me to marry you?”

“I just told you to marry me,” Ian answered.

“There’s a huge hole in that idea,” Mandy responded, trying to process his words. “You don’t like girls. _I’m_ a girl.”

“No, Mandy..” Ian sighed, “I mean, marry me for tax reasons and benefits. I’m an EMT. I have a bank account that will be more than enough to help with you and Gabe.”

“You have a savings account?” Mandy questioned.

“Yeah,” Ian nodded. “Been working for a year.”

“Ian, I can’t..” she paused, her cerulean eyes boring into his own, “this is.. wow. I mean, it’s sweet of you, but—”

“It’s for the kid,” the redhead interrupted. “It doesn’t make you a gold digger or some shit if I already offered to help pay so you can keep your kid. Look, I’ll adopt him as well. It’s platonic and it’s for Gabe.” It was crazy that Ian was offering to marry a woman, a woman that he saw as his sister. What was even crazier was that Mandy agreed.

But both set aside their uneasiness for the child, because that’s what this was for—the child. As months slipped away from their grip and as they were speeding towards the wedding day and Ian legally adopting the child, the more Ian wanted to back out of it, and the more he realized what the mess he was getting into.

Their wedding day was much like a shotgun wedding—except without the bride being pregnant, and with the groom being gay. They had kept it on the down low. No one knew, and no one _had_ to know. It was a secret between the two of them. It wasn’t like it left a dent in their friendship; they were still joined at the hip—except that Mandy Milkovich was Mandy Gallagher.

“What’s the ring on your finger?” Lip questioned one day. “Got hitched to a dude you met at one of your gay clubs?” His eyes were twinkling with amusement. However, Ian couldn’t share the amusement. Because, how do you tell your brother that you just recently got married to his ex, especially when his ex is a woman and you don’t like women?

So Ian had nodded and plastered on a smile while his heart pounded in his chest, and diverted his attention to the cereal. He hadn’t been a praying man, but he had let out a prayer to anyone up there listening to get Lip to leave him alone. However, he had come to the conclusion that there wasn’t anyone that wanted to help him, or they were just amused by Ian’s dilemma.

“Am I gonna meet your mysterious husband anytime soon?” Lip questioned.

 _For fuck’s sake._ “Yeah, probably,” Ian answered coolly.

“Cool,” Lip nodded, “I’m happy for you.” And with that he left, Ian’s happy mask melting away bit by bit with every step his older brother took.

“Lip doesn’t know we’re..” her voice tapered off, leaving the unfinished question joining the word hanging in the around her room, the word that never left her mouth. “He thinks you just met some dude and got married?” They had been hanging out in her room days later, blue walls shielding them away from her other brothers.

“Pretty much,” Ian sighed as Gabe was in his arms, fasta sleep. The boy had his mother’s dark hair, falling in wisps of doughy skin and hazel eyes—brown that was swirling with green, like moss covering a tree trunk. He had also inherited his mother’s temper, and smile.

Ian couldn’t help but get attached to the kid.

“I don’t think how thankful I am for you helping me out like this,” Mandy said, “if you need anything, ever. Tell me.”

He smiled. “Nah, this is what friends do.”

“Get married?”

“Help each other out. Even though this wasn’t the best ideas, it was all you had, and I helped.”

“Still. Thank you.” She smiled at him. “Want pizza bagels? I could get Mickey to make them. Or I could order them so I can avoid talking to them.”

“Pizza bagels sound—”

 _“Mandy!”_ a voice screamed, which had woken up the baby, making him cry.

“Jesus,” she sighed and glowered when a man who had hair as dark as hers, and sapphire eyes that looked like two blocks of ice wedged onto a doughy face with freckles that seemed to be faded with age, was waiting at her doorway. He was beautiful, and Ian hated that he was attracted to an asshole. “You got the baby to cry. Good for you.”

“Then make it shut the fuck up,” Mickey countered. “Get your fucking redhead to do it.”

“Redhead is right here,” Ian reminded the dark-haired man.

“Then shut him up, Freckles,” the dark-haired man responded curtly. And Ian did, shutting his mouth, and rocking Gabe, lulling the baby back to sleep. “Thought you were gonna get beer for me.”

“I was preoccupied,” Mandy responded. “Ay, can you make pizza bagels? Don’t wanna spend extra money.”

The man made an annoyed sound, sucking his teeth. “Fine, whatever. You owe me beer.” And with that, he walked out.

If Ian had been told then, that he was going to fall in love with Mickey Milkovich, he would’ve called it a bluff. He couldn’t imagine falling in love with the asshole with the terse tongue, with the hard glares and with the temper as short as the butts of cigarettes he would cram into his ashtray. Then again, he couldn’t imagine marrying Mandy.

It was crazy how life did a 180 right before your eyes; flipping in the opposite direction you thought it was in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Three months later**

 

A gunshot hit the heart with a loud _bang._ Mickey allowed himself to get swallowed whole by the ruins and the glock in his hands as he pulled the trigger once again. His head pounded from the headache last night, and his skin was too tight on his body—like it had shrunk in the dryer or some shit.

It was in the dead of night when he decided to leave his house, desperate for the slap of wind on his skin and for the cries of Gabe to die out. His ears rang with every _bang_ the gun elicited but the bell going off silenced every other emotion or thought that was jumbled up inside him.

Mickey thought that the minute Terry was shipped off to jail yet again, he’d live peacefully. But his mind was a war—a cold, gruesome war where every soldier fighting dies—and his body was the battle field, where rotting corpses were splayed all over it.

“So this is where you fuck off to,” a voice said. It had jolted Mickey’s heart—which was used to the quiet, save the _whoosh_ of wind flying in and out of the abandoned building—and he almost shot the intruder. But when he turned around, he was met with a pair of piercing blue eyes that matched his ones; except that his eyes were clouded with irritation while hers was crinkled with amusement and wonder.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he questioned brusquely, turning his attention back to the dummy with the gaping holes.

“Hello to you too, brother,” she quipped.

“Shut the fuck up and go take care of your kid.” A bullet pierced the right shoulder, its bite digging into the soft matter.

“Ian’s taking care of Gabe, for your fucking information.”

“Ian the redhead who keeps hanging out with you?” Curiosity leaked out of his mouth before he could slap on duct tape on the hole in his ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. “Thought you were in love with Spencer or whatever the fuck.” Another bullet hit the left thigh.

“Sam,” she corrected.

“What’d I say?” Mandy rolled her eyes. “You moved on pretty fast, though.” His eyes darted to the accessory sparkling in the moonlight quickly, wrapped around her left ring finger, before flitting back to the dummy. “Looks like he got dough, giving you that expensive looking fuckin’ ring. You gonna get hitched to him?”

“Fuck off,” she responded, but it wasn’t menacing. Another bullet hit the stomach.

“So that’s a no.”

“Why do you give a shit about who I fuck?” Mandy responded. Mickey pursed his lips. He didn’t like where they were running into, because he didn’t fucking know why he cared. He usually didn’t care unless her boyfriend was abusing her.

“Why do you give a shit about where I ‘fuck off to’?” He changed the direction of their topic, turning the steering wheel 180 degrees and making a U turn.

“Fuck me for worrying about where you go, right?” Mandy responded curtly. Mickey lowered the glock. This is what he hated; people getting attached to him. He hated it when others got up close and personal with him, because he’d get scared and try to keep as much distance as possible between them. It’d be messy and he didn’t want to clean up after the mess, ever.

“Right,” Mickey agreed and with that, he walked out, glad when his sister didn’t follow him out.

 

****************

The Kash N Grab was a place where Mickey didn’t like going, but it had been the only store close to his house, and the only store that isn’t crazy expensive. It wasn’t possible to steal from the place—even though it had been as easy as taking candy from a baby, and that baby had been a pussy Muslim—ever since Kash left, his wife had doubled the security. Mickey swore the woman counted all of their products, and always watched the tapes to catch someone looting.

It sucked, really. Which is why Mickey decided to just get his ass up and go to grocery stores on the North Side, as much as he hated it.

His family was piss poor, and they usually looted shit than buy them. Mickey could vividly remember when he started to loot, started to follow his dad’s and brothers’ footprints, even though they were muddy and messy while imprinted onto the ground. And when you’re seven years old and your stomach is growling like a rabid dog, it leaves little room for the desire to be an upstanding citizen.

He knew it was wrong and he knew that he’d get in deep shit if he was caught—and the chances of him getting caught were pretty fucking big back then—but in juvenile detention, prisoners didn’t have to pay for the shitty food brought to them, so it was good enough. His heart was pounding in his chest as he held his can of Pringles close to him, under his coat, threatening to give him away. As soon as he got out and ran home, his heart stopped thumping, and his stomach was pleased.

And he thought it would be a one-time thing, but it wasn’t. Stealing was like a drug, see. At first when you try it out, you wouldn’t think that you’d get addicted. But you try it again, justifying it with _it’s just a little taste_ and _I won’t do it again_ but you do it again, and again, and again, until it’s deep into your life and becomes part of who you are.

So Mickey was back, over ten years later, hiding food in a bag, when he hears a familiar voice. “We’re gonna get some diaper rash cream, and some food, and then we’ll go back home to Mom, okay? Sound good?” It was gentle, almost velvety. Mickey hated how he immediately recognized the voice, even though they’ve talked a couple times in the span of three months. The voice was metal and Mickey’s ears were metal detectors, immediately picking up on it.

As if his ears didn’t confirm the identity of the father, the visual definitely confirmed it. Mickey knocked into the lanky redhead and glared at him. “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

“You’re the one who knocked into me,” Freckles pointed out coolly, emerald eyes boring into Mickey’s. Mickey raised his eyebrows threateningly, a silent cue to bite his tongue, and swallow any words that might aggravate the raven-haired man. But those emerald eyes didn’t look fearful; not even for a split second. It annoyed Mickey to no end. They had an impromptu stare-off and Mickey took in the man’s features; chiseled jaw that was slightly crooked, and pink lips, with freckles littered all over his milky skin, and wild, red hair perched on his head. Mickey realized—with his stomach churning sickeningly—that the man was beautiful. Even though he looked sad, with his shoulders slouched and his features dripping with despair and numbness. He was a tragic and beautiful masterpiece.

Ian was the one who broke off the stare-off, lowering his gaze to the stroller. “I’m running low on time, so can you get out of the way?” He sounded weary; like he didn’t want to spend any more energy on this weird conversation. Mickey wanted to give him more shit, wanted to take the immature road and stay rooted in his spot, but his roots were weak and the immature road was closed due to construction. So his feet moved to let the redhead go, licking the corner of his mouth.

He scowled at himself for appreciating the redhead. It wasn’t because Ian was Ian; it was because Ian was a _guy._ And he didn’t like boys. No, sir.

He hauled ass out of there, making sure to hide his stolen goods, and went home, the rickety place looking more welcome than it ever did before. He swung open the door because it was unlocked—because _obviously_ Iggy and Colin would forget to lock the door, even though they lived in a neighborhood that reeked of wrong-doers and criminals—and slammed the door shut, locking it. At least _he_ remembered to lock the door. “I got food, birdbrains.”

“Finally!” Iggy exclaimed, grinning wide, and he licked his lips in anticipation. Mickey stood there, the food still in his bag. “That’s your fucking cue to put the food down.”

“Why the fuck was the door unlocked?” Mickey questioned, ignoring his older brother's urge to open the bag, and deepening his scowl.

“The door was open?” Colin inquired in disbelief.

“No, assface, I teleported here like fucking Harry Potter,” Mickey quipped. “Of fucking course the door was unlocked. Jesus, I’m going to kick your asses if anyone tries to rob us.”

“No idiot would try to rob us, Mickey,” Iggy pointed out.

“Would it fucking hurt to lock the fucking door once in a while? Or are you too stupid to do that?” He rubbed his forehead, before lowering the bag and taking the food. “The next time I see the door unlocked, I’m aiming my Ruger in your fat fucking faces and emptying the clip.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Iggy responded and took out the food. He looked up when his little brother was walking towards his room. “Ay, aren’t you gonna eat?”

“I will later,” Mickey promised as he felt the familiar fire in his lower abdomen. “Gotta do something. Save some for me.”

“We ain’t saving anything,” Colin warned, his mouth warbled by the food stuffed in it. Annoyed, Mickey turned around, grabbed his piece of food, and turned to his room.

“Save some for Mandy, or she’ll chop you both up and feed you to her kid,” Mickey warned while entering his room, and closed the door. As soon as his hand flew off the knob, his pants came off, his palm was covered with spit and his fingers were curled around his shaft, hardening his cock. He closed his eyes and bit into his lip so hard the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

Taking the lube from his one night stand and letting go of his cock, he slicked his fingers with the slippery liquid, and inserted one in him. Sharply inhaling through his nose while his finger gingerly worked inside him, he felt like someone lit a torch in his ass. His fingers found his prostate and rubbed the bundle of nerves, and the fire was moved to the pit of his abdomen yet again, while his intestines twisted and turned. His free hand circled around his cock again, and he jerked himself off while his fingers worked inside him.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he saw a flash of white, before his hot pleasure was leaked onto his hand. He pulled his fingers out and sat down, legs quaking from the release as he cleaned the mess.

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

“No word from Sam?” Ian inquired one day.

“In the wind,” she sighed. “Not one word.” Her slim fingers wrapped around her coffee mug while her and the redhead were sitting on the table. “The only thing good about giving birth to a fucking child is that my tits are bigger. My insides are horrible. God, if I sneeze too hard I piss myself.”

“Attractive,” Ian joked. “Way to seduce your husband.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she laughed. “The tit thing worked, didn’t it?”

“I’m gay,” Ian reminded the blonde. “But if I was straight.. it would’ve worked.” He was glad he finished his sentence when he did, because Mandy’s brother walked in the kitchen and rubbed his eyes, his charcoal hair sticking out in different directions. He was only in a wife beater and boxers; the wife beater hugging his torso, acting as a second layer of skin and the boxers hugging his ass perfectly.

Not that Ian was looking.

But his attraction to the man deflated like a blown up balloon when you untie the knot at the bottom when the older man opened his mouth. “Jesus, you’re back? You livin’ here or some shit? Getting serious with him, huh, Mands?” His billowy lips were pulled back into a smile, eyes flitting between the two as he leaned against the doorway of the kitchen.

“Fuck off,” Mandy rolled her icy blue eyes.

“You want more coffee?” Ian questioned his best friend and stood up before she got the chance to answer. “I’ll get you more coffee.”

“O…kay,” she responded, looking at Ian like he had three heads. He grabbed her mug and went to the kitchen, leaving the siblings to squabble over miniscule subjects. It’s as if they wanted to butt heads with each other, so one of them kept egging the other one to crash their foreheads together. Today, Mickey was that someone.

The redhead felt the heavy weight of one pair of eyes on him—well, specifically, his wedding band. He could feel the sapphire eyes like lasers burning holes into his hand, before looking up. Mickey’s eyes flitted to his sister’s. “So you got hitched to I Love Lucy here?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you all that,” she responded, even though both the dark-haired man and the redhead saw through her lie, as if it was plastic wrap covering the truth. She wasn’t going to tell them—she was just hoping that it wasn’t a subject.

“So you tied the knot to him after Sam left you?” Mickey dragged his tongue out onto his lower lip. “You seem pretty fuckin’ serious about a rebound.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” Mandy inquired curtly.

“I don’t.”

“So why are you asking her so many questions?” It was Ian who spoke up. If Mickey whipped his head faster towards the redhead, he’d get whiplash. Ian’s knees wobbled like Jello under the weight of his torso, as he painted a pretty picture of nonchalance to cover the ugly picture of fear wrapped up inside him. Yes, Ian knew how to defend himself—to an extent.

“Because I fuckin’ want to,” Mickey finally said after the silence stretched out so thin that it almost ripped. “Mandy, tell your husband to watch his fucking tongue.” His eyes were still on the redhead’s, glowering. His tongue darted out and licked the corner of his mouth. The tension between the two was crackling like electricity, and Ian hoped he wouldn’t get electrocuted.

“Don’t tell her what to fucking do.” Mickey let out a laugh; a bitter one, that was more a huff of breath than anything. But his smile lit up his face the way the sun streaming through the cracked windows lit up the dingy house.

“You got balls, I’ll tell you that,” the older man commented, stepping closer to the redhead. “Do me a favour and watch your tongue around me or else I’ll be making sure they don’t work anymore.” And with that, he walked past the redhead, shoulder bumping against Ian’s, and out of the house, letting the door slam shut. _Asshole._

“I appreciate that you were defending me,” Mandy started.

“But?”

“But that was fucking stupid,” she commented. “Just.. stay out of his way, okay? Stay out of everyone’s way and you’ll be good.” The redhead nodded his understanding before handing her mug of coffee. “Again, thank you. For everything. For helping me with Gabe and not just financially.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Ian shrugged.

“Don’t understand where he gets it from,” Mandy admitted after taking a gulp of her coffee. “Not like his parents were the greatest.” Both best friends sat in silence, the silence creating a film of ice over them. Mandy stepped on it and broke it, by opening her mouth. “You should move in. Y’know, be the father figure. You give more of a shit about the baby than anyone in this household. I’ll feel better knowing that you’ll be able to take care of him most of the time.”

“How is moving in staying out of your brothers’ way exactly?”

“Avoid them,” Mandy shrugged. “Pretend they don’t exist. That’s what I do most of the time. They’ll do the same to you.”

“Mickey wasn’t avoiding you this morning.”

“Because he wanted to give me shit,” she responded. “He would’ve shut up a long time ago if you hadn’t become a White fuckin’ Knight and ‘defend my honour’. Everything’s pretty peaceful here when Terry’s locked up. We’ll be out of here way before he gets released, don’t worry. I’m not letting Gabe around him. I give a shit about the kid, surprisingly.”

 

****************

The White Swallow was a place Ian didn’t think he’d ever come back as a customer. The pounding music drilled holes into his head, and thumped in his chest, and the temperature inside was sweltering hot. But if you were a gay man and you wanted to get a quick fuck, a gay club was the number one place to go.

Growing up on Southside, Ian had a cloak around him, which hid traits about him that would’ve gotten him jumped if it had spilt onto the dirty streets. But the cloak was heavy and made him sweat under it, made him quiver in fear whenever he thought someone found out about his sexuality. As the years slipped by and he grew, the cloak got smaller, and it got uncomfortably tight around him, making his breath lodge in his throat in a ball.

Getting to the Northside, he could shed the cloak and breathe again, because he was around people like him. Yes, it was mostly go-go dancers and old men who were cheating on their wives, but they all had one thing in common; they all liked cock.

His emerald eyes raked through the crowd to find someone he deemed fuckable, until they landed on the same familiar bob of soot coloured hair and sapphire eyes, eyes raking over the crowd like the redhead was. His eyes were like two chips of ice, judging the men around him. Ian stood there, slack-jawed, as shock was dumped on him like ice water, chilling him to the bone.

He looked like a predator; looking for a prey for him to ravish. Ian seemed like a deer in headlights; like glue had attached his feet to the ground and his muscles were locked. Luckily, the older man hadn’t seen the redhead, as his eyes were to Ian’s left. He arched an eyebrow, a smug look on his face, as he turned away and walked towards the exit.

When Ian couldn’t see the dark-haired man anymore, his muscled loosened, pooled around his feet, and his mind was buzzed with shock and excitement. Did Mandy know he liked dick? Did _anyone_ know other than Ian? How long has he known he liked dick? Most importantly.. why the fuck did Ian care? He liked cock, so what? It wasn’t that much of a surprise to think that one of the Milkoviches turned out to be interested in the same sex as theirs. It was ironic, but not shocking.

The redhead walked to the bar, and sat down on the stool, flashing the bartender with a smile. “Hey, Josh.” Josh was Ian’s only friend in the whole club. They have fucked but things got messy when Josh fell in love with the redhead and wanted more. Ian didn’t do relationships—it was a sticky and messy situation and Ian didn’t want his fingers to get sticky while cleaning up after the mess. However they decided to stay friends, and Josh found someone else.

“Hey,” Josh greeted. “Haven’t found anyone else to fuck?”

“No, just got here,” Ian lied. He didn’t want to explain the clusterfuck that was his life. He just wanted a fuck and split, and—hopefully—not bump into Mickey. He didn’t know what the older man would do when he would spot the man married to his sister at a gay club.

“Nice hardware,” Josh complimented, chocolate brown eyes on the ring. Ian sighed and slipped it off, putting it in his pocket. “Don’t want anyone to know you have a husband?”

“Wife,” the redhead corrected.

“Thought you were gay.”

“I am.”

“Then why are you married to a woman?”

“It’s.. complicated and a long story that I don’t wanna talk about,” Ian admitted, as his eyes landed on a man eye-fucking him. He had hair that was the colour of charcoal and grey, and his face was imprinted with wrinkles—each wrinkles telling a story of his life. He looked middle-aged, but good looking and fit for a man his age. The redhead jerked his head towards the door, an eyebrow arched. The man nodded his understanding once before the duo made their way to the door.

Once the crisp air hit his face, kissing his cheeks as softly as it could and wiping away the beads of sweat, his cloak was back on; the tight cloak wrapped around him again. He got a cigarette out and lit it up, before inhaling the carbon monoxide.

“That was good,” a voice timidly said.

“Yeah, whatever.” The click of a lighter filled the silence. A hand gripped around Ian’s heart and squeezed tight as his heart tried to expand in fear.

“Can I get your number? Maybe we can do this again.”

“Do you know what a fucking one night stand is?” Mickey retorted, his voice getting louder as footsteps ascended. Ian pulled up the hood of his sweater, the hood covering half of his face as the cigarette stick dangled between his lips. _Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me._

“It doesn’t hurt to ask, does it?”

“Take a fuckin’ hint and fuck off,” the dark-haired man growled and walked away, not sparing a glance in Ian’s direction. When Ian guessed the coast was clear, he lowered his hood and exhaled the carbon monoxide, relief mingling with the toxic smoke.

“Hey,” the older man Ian had caught eye-fucking him before greeted, standing beside him. “Sorry I took so long, it’s busy as fuck in the—”

“You wanna fuck in an alley or at your place?” the redhead interrupted, irritation clogging his brain the way the smoke had clogged his lungs. He wasn’t here to talk, he was here to fuck.

“I’ll take you to my place. My wife and kids aren’t home,” the man smirked. “It’s not that far away from here, only a five minute walk.

“Lead the way.”


	4. Chapter 4

**One month later**

 

Alcohol dug its tendrils inside Mickey’s head and dug out parts of Mickey that he forgot were there. Like gems, buried in the rocks, hidden from plain sight. But his deepest, darkest parts weren’t as beautiful as gems. They were ugly, and it made Mickey’s stomach turn sickeningly.

Or maybe it was the alcohol that made him feel nauseous.

However, alcohol was addicting. It was like the remote and the channel was the self-loathing Mickey felt on the daily; all he needed to do is press the mute button for a while. Until the silence lulled him to sleep and the TV would automatically be unmuted, and the volume would be to the max.

“Keep ‘em coming,” Mickey said, ignoring the burning taste of whiskey licking his insides with its own flame.

“You’re killing yourself, man,” the bartender shook his head.

 _Well, what’s the point in living?_ Mickey cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raised slightly. “You gonna act as my fuckin’ shrink and lecture me about my ‘coping mechanisms’ or are you gonna do what I paid you to do—pour drinks?” he wet his lips, hitching his eyebrows up higher. “We ain’t playin’ fucking pretend, so do what you’re supposed to do and mind your own business.”

The bartender shut up and proceeded to pour the raven-haired man drinks. Everyone who knew Mickey Milkovich knew that he wasn’t one to be trifled with. If you were lucky, the only way he’d attack you was with his words—but it wasn’t any less painful than his fists. His words were razor sharp and laced with venom, cutting into you. He always knew what to say to shut people up.

Well, he used to. Now _Ian fucking Gallagher_ came into his life and his razor sharp words morphed into butter knives that did nothing but slightly graze the redhead. Truth be told, he didn’t know what to say to Ian, and it wasn’t because the redhead was twice as witty as Mickey. No, it was because a part of Mickey found him insanely attractive.

This was wrong because of two _very_ important reasons. One being that Ian Gallagher was married to Mandy, his fucking sister. The other one was that he simply couldn’t find another man attractive. He wasn’t _gay_ or anything, he just found fucking men less dramatic than girls. At least, that’s what his—albeit very weak—reason was.

But a part of him knew that it wasn’t just that, that there was a very strong reason why he fucked men, but he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge it. But it was like one of those ugly gems that alcohol had managed to dig up, and now it was in plain sight.

The ginger had guts; that was for sure. He loved Mandy, and her kid. More than her baby daddy ever did. He held more love than anyone else in the household did, excluding Mandy. But his courage and his unwillingness to back down whenever he was threatened did things to Mickey. Even though those two characteristics were imbedded in you as a child if you grew up on the South side—be tough as nails and beat the shit out of anyone who poses a threat.

That didn’t mean it didn’t turn Mickey on.

As he slowly made his way down the stool and staggered out the bar, he had one thought in his head—he needed to get his rocks off, and fast.

But as he fucked someone else—he never _got_ fucked, he fucked his one night stands (even though he longed to bend over for someone and feel full with cock)—and teetered on the edge of climax, he thought of red hair, freckles and green eyes. And he loathed himself even more as every second passed by. However, almost nothing ever worked in his favour, so the man he was fucking squealed and squirmed uncomfortably.

“Fuck, you’re going way too hard,” the man complained, wincing as Mickey kept working up a hard and fast pace. “Stop.”

Like the man had control of Mickey’s hips, he stopped thrusting. “You fuckin’ serious right now?” he raised his eyebrows. He could feel himself wilting, and the feeling of arousal slowly letting go of his lower abdomen. The only thing that wasn’t fading was Ian Gallagher.

“Sorry,” the man mumbled as the thug pulled out of him, pulled off the condom, tied it into a knot and tossed it into a dumpster he had his fuck buddy bent over seconds ago.

“Yeah, well, you should be,” Mickey grumbled, more frustrated with the fact that he couldn’t even accomplish the mission he was on, than not being able to cum. He had a hand. And fingers. And toys. He could cum whenever he wanted to, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the gems were still out in the open. After the man turned and scampered out into the streets like a prey running into a hiding spot to shield itself from its predator, Mickey lit up a cigarette.

Here he fucking was, in an alley, catching his breath from fucking another guy. Terry would’ve lost it, Mickey reminded himself with a grim smile. Would’ve killed Mickey with his bare hands.

As he sucked on his cigarette and traveled back to his home, he opened the door—which was fucking locked this time—and saw a redhead with his tank top and boxers on, drinking milk out of the carton. “Ay, don’t hog the whole thing. We got other fuckin’ people living here that need milk.”

The ginger seemed to look startled at Mickey’s sudden words, which, oddly pleased Mickey. But he collected himself, before lowering the carton and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You guys can drink things other than beer? Shocking.” A small smirk appeared on his lips before he erased it with a big eraser. Mickey loved the facial transition from smug to _fuck, he isn’t Mandy_ in ten seconds. Both the redhead and Mickey knew that Mickey could care less if Ian was married to Mandy; he wouldn’t think twice about painting bruises on the pallid skin.

“You’re lucky I have a sense of humour or a couple of your teeth would’ve been on the floor,” Mickey finally chose to respond. All of a sudden, he didn’t want to hurt the redhead, like the urge to hear the redhead's bones crack under Mickey's fists didn't seem appealing. It seemed _revolting_. He didn’t know why, but his brain had written down ‘DON’T HURT IAN GALLAGHER’ in all caps, and his body followed without protest.

“Do you ever go a day without threatening violence?” the redhead inquired. _Guts. He’s got guts._

“No, and I stay true to my words, so watch yourself around me.” Before the raven-haired man could process the words that flew out of his mouth, Ian smiled. It was lopsided and fucking _adorable_ all at the same time. Mickey focused on that instead of the fact that Mickey proved the redhead's point.

“Two threats in one minute,” Ian commented, feigning an impressed look. “World record.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey spat, his scowl deepening before he tilted the carton of milk and drank the contents inside. He was afraid that if his scowl was lightened in any way, the smile threatening to spread all over his facial features would give the redhead the wrong idea—that he was amusing Mickey. Which, he was, but Mickey didn’t want him to know that.

“Can’t really.”

“Why are you even up this fucking late?” Mickey inquired, turning to the redhead and lowering the carton, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.

“Why are you?” He arched an eyebrow knowingly—as if he _knew_ something Mickey didn’t know he did. Mickey’s heart thumped against his chest with hard _thwack_ s, threatening to scream ‘I was fucking another dude’. But he swallowed the screams that his heart had let out, and shrugged, putting the carton away.

“Business,” the raven-haired man replied vaguely. It was an answer that Ian didn’t want to probe on more because either he’d think it would be boring, or because he assumed ‘business’ meant ‘something illegal Terry wanted me to do since he’s rotting in jail’. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“What question?”

“Why are you even up this fucking late, Red?”

“My shift just ended,” the redhead responded casually. “Sometimes I have to take shifts at night and—”

“I don’t remember asking about your stupid job,” Mickey grumbled. Even though it wasn’t stupid, it was impressive. He got himself into a job that didn’t give him shitty pay and he could do something worthwhile.

“No, but I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“I don’t feel like fucking talkin’ in the ass crack of dawn, Gallagher,” Mickey spat. “Even if I did, I don’t wanna talk about your job.” With that, he turned to stomp back into his room and beat his meat. That is, until the redhead opened his mouth and tested how much he could say without getting hurt, _yet again._

“Why are you like this?”

Mickey turned around, eyebrows hitched up high on his forehead. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you like this?” the redhead questioned, his confidence being shed like clothes. Mickey forced himself not to think of what it’d be like if Ian actually  _did_ shed his clothes and stood in front of Mickey stark naked, and focused on the irritation bubbling inside him like lava. “Why do you act like you hate everyone that you meet?”

“Because I do.”

“No you don’t,” the redhead responded defiantly.

Mickey’s tongue darted out and licked the corner of his mouth, the way he did when he was angry. “So you’re gonna stand there and fucking tell me about how I feel about everyone I know?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It feels like that's what you’re doing.”

The ginger opened his mouth, and sighed before closing it. “Good night, Mickey.” He walked into his room, leaving Mickey in the darkness of the living room.

 

****************

For the past couple weeks, the redhead deliberately avoided Mickey. He’d be at the house when Mickey wasn’t, and he’d be outside when Mickey did decide to stay at the house. The only exception was when they both conked out at the household at night, and that’s excluding Ian’s night shifts. On the rare occasions when they were both inside and awake, Ian would go to another room. That would be a relief to Mickey, right? No more ginger getting on Mickey’s nerves or trying to strike up a conversation. Right?

Wrong.

Mickey would constantly miss the redhead’s voice in the household when he was alone, and the emptiness would sit itself down beside Mickey, attempting to be his company. It wouldn’t work.

As a child, Mickey had this old Walkman that his brothers got bored of and gave to him. He would put cassettes of music inside and listen to them, especially when he was at home, to mute the shrieks and the thundering roars. Or, at least, turn them down a couple notches so all Mickey could hear were background noises of the song that was traveling in his ears. Whenever he was without his Walkman, his ears would ring. It was quiet, but persistent. His ears couldn’t handle the silence, especially when he went hours of listening to his music the night prior.

It would agitate him to no extent. It was quiet, but it was still there—like the shadows of music that wasn’t being played.

Having Gallagher avoid him was kind of like that. The ringing was quiet and persistent and his ears wanted to hear more, because, _fuck,_ they were used to the man’s voice and it sounded beautiful and could possibly fucking mend all the scars inside him, that were infected and picked on and bleeding out for the hundredth time. It annoyed him.

So when Mickey found the redhead sitting on the ratty couch, he realized that there was a chance being given to him. He decided to grab that chance and keep it for himself before it was taken away. So he sat down on another couch. “You gonna tell me how I feel today?”

The ginger turned his head to look at the raven-haired man, who didn’t look angry or agitated or upset. He looked amused; like he was teasing Ian. Which he was, and Mickey was intending for Ian to know that. “You feel better than the last time we talked, that’s for sure,” the redhead responded.

“Is it my fuckin’.. aura or some shit?”

“Sure.”

 _Sure._ How the fuck was Mickey supposed to create conversation out of that one word? So he got his pack of Marlboro out and handed a stick of cigarette to the redhead, arm stretched out. Ian glanced at the hand and raised an eyebrow at the raven-haired man. “You’re not gonna get your ass kicked for taking one of my cigs, man, it’s fine.” Reluctantly, Ian took the offer and stuck it between his pink lips. Mickey forced himself to look anywhere else but those lips and _think_ of anything else other than how those pouty lips might look around his cock.

“You still hate everyone you meet?” Ian inquired, taking his own lighter out.

“I still do.” Mickey placed his stick between his lips and lit the cigarette.

“I don’t believe you.” The redhead took a drag, eyes trained on the glowing tip. It resembled the sun during a sunset; orange, blindingly bright, and small—small enough to fit into your hands.

“Why the fuck not? You some fuckin’.. therapist or some shit? Do they teach you how to be a therapist during your training to become an EMT?”

“No,” the redhead replied, smoke billowing out like fog as he talked, dissipating into thin air, “couldn’t be a therapist. Won’t be able to deal with other people’s mental issues. And, sometimes, life or death if they seemed to be suicidal or some shit.” He blew out the rest of the smoke. “You can’t hate everyone you encounter.”

“The fuck I can’t.”

“You can’t,” Ian responded. “We have this pesky thing called ‘getting attached’. It’s when you start giving a shit about someone the more you’re with them. Soon enough, you love them and you’d die before you let anything happen to them.”

“You’re talking about family.”

“Do you hate your family?”

Mickey didn’t answer that. “It’s kinda fuckin’ annoying to have you assume how I feel, Gallagher.”

“I’m just stating the obvious. Even around here, we get attached to specific people. Doesn’t matter how shitty our pasts were, we still get attached. It’s what we do. We start seeing the people we care about in a different light.”

“Well, I’m fucking 23 and my opinion on people hasn’t changed.”

“It will,” Ian promised and looked at the time, “ay, listen, I gotta cut this philosophical talk short. My shift starts in half an hour.” He got up and took another drag of his cigarette. “Thanks for the smoke.”

Mickey didn’t respond—instead he watched the redhead go. At first he thought Gallagher was speaking out of his ass, but as Ian left, he could almost feel the light change. Like the lightbulb illuminating Ian in Mickey’s brain before was shitty and dull, and now he got the energy to change the lightbulb, so he can admire the redhead in fluorescent light, and memorize every inch of the body.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i updated?? what??? 
> 
> LMAO nah but seriously, i'm sorry for the long wait. i just had a bunch of bullshit to deal with. i decided to update before i got myself to study for a test tomorrow for school.
> 
> \- Gaylagher


	5. Chapter 5

_ Soft touches meet calloused hands. Calloused hands with millions of stories, many people they’ve done harm to. But they never harmed the redhead. The fists uncurled into open palms, and those open palms was splayed on Ian’s skin softly. Lips that formed words that cut into a person’s skin like knives, and tongue that moved swiftly to enunciate those knives. All melted like butter under Ian’s touch. _

_ As they pulled back, sapphire eyes stared at him, two open skies full of possibilities. “You’re gonna have to let go of me soon,” he mumbled, his thumb grazing Ian’s lower lip. _

_ “I don’t want to.” _

_ “You have no control over this, Gallagher,” Mickey reminded the redhead. “You have to let go of me.” _

_ “I don’t want to.” _

_ “Are you gonna keep repeating the same fuckin’ thing?” _

_ “Probably.” _

_ The dark-haired man let out a huff of laughter—mouth closed. “Redundant bitch.” _

_ “Your fucking fault for making this feel so good,” the redhead pouted. It didn’t make sense, but he let the blame mask the logic that was formed in his conscious mind. He wasn’t ready to let go. He didn’t want to. _

Gabe wailed loudly, loudly enough to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood up. The heavy weight of sleep was slowly being lifted off of him like a heavy, woolen blanket. It was taking the dream with him. As he reluctantly opened his eyes and peered at the child, Mandy shifted beside him. “Can you get the baby?” she questioned, eyes closed. The redhead nodded even though Mandy couldn’t see him, and got off the bed, walking towards the crib.

As he gently took Gabe into his arms, Gabe wouldn’t stop crying and screaming. He checked Gabe’s diaper. Dry. He seemed well. “I think he’s hungry.”

Mandy groaned and opened her eyes, sitting up. “We need fucking formula. He bites when he’s feeding.”

“He doesn’t know any better.”

“That doesn’t lessen the pain.” She took Gabe from the redhead and lifted her shirt, one of her breasts out in the open. Ian turned his head away, staring at the blue wall. “You know, I don’t mind if you look.”

“I mind,” the redhead countered.

“You’re gay as shit,” the dark-haired woman laughed.

“Wait.. are you serious?” Ian quipped. “Fuck, thanks for telling me. I totally didn’t know.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mandy retorted, but Ian could hear the smile in her voice. “I mean to ask, what’s up with you and Mickey?”

“What’s up with me and Mickey?”

“No, it’s just..” Mandy sighed. “The two of you would barely talk to each other, but I see you both hanging out with each other and actually having a fucking conversation.”

He swallowed hard, knowing exactly what she meant. “Do want us not to?” Ian questioned. “I mean, he’s my brother in law. I’d like us to have a good.. friendship. To keep the family stable.”

“This family was never stable, Ian. You and I both know that.”

“Do you want us to not be friends?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Mandy shook her head as if that was ludicrous. “You guys can be friends. It’s just a lost cause, this fucking family. But, I see the way you look at him sometimes, and—”

Ian snapped his head back to his best friend, eyes not daring to travel any lower than her face. “I don’t like him  _that_ way, Mandy,” he denied. The truth was he was  _starting_ to, but it fully developed.

“Good, because Mickey’s.. he’s straight, and even if he was, he doesn’t do relationships.”

“Neither do I, Mands,” the redhead pointed out.

“So you just wanna fuck him?” Mandy questioned and adjusted her shirt when her son was done eating.

_ No, I want to do more than that.  _ “Don’t worry about it,” Ian faked a smile and kissed the top of her head. “Get some more shut eye. I got Gabe.” He took the baby out of Mandy’s arms and walked out the door, not bothering to put a shirt on. As he walked to the dining table, he saw the dark-haired man in the kitchen.

“The kid has a strong pair of fucking lungs,” Mickey commented when sapphire eyes landed on him. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Ian’s shirtless self. Sapphire eyes darted all around the room, refusing to look at the ginger in front of him.

“Guess he does.”

“Gonna move out if Mandy keeps staying here with him.” He turned his back to the redhead. Ian could still see the blood rush up to his neck.

“Yeah? How are you gonna afford an apartment?”

“I’ll fucking manage.” He acted closed off again. The second Ian thought he broke down another wall that was hoisted up to protect the older man, he was met with another brick wall—a stronger one. Ian was determined to get to the core, however. No matter how many walls were hoisted up.

As the redhead opened his mouth to speak, a woman walked out of Mickey’s room, one of his shirts draping off of her. She was extremely thin—like the strong might blow her over. The shirt was basically hanging off of her; as if she was a coat hanger and not a human being. Mickey glanced at the woman, his face stone cold. The girl however wasn’t focused on the older man, her hazel eyes on the redhead. “That your kid?”

“My step-kid,” Ian corrected.

“So you’re married?”

“Yup.”

“Damn shame,” she commented, sighing sorrowfully before turning to the dark-haired man, who seemed to avoid the redhead. “Are you gonna stay home today?”

“I’m out on a drug run,” Mickey answered, “won’t be home until late night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I don’t have work until 12, I can stay—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mickey repeated, his voice firmer, eyebrows high up on his forehead, hard sapphire eyes on the girl. Ian knew that expression. It roughly translated to ‘I am not in the mood for your shit’.

The girl glanced at Ian, before looking back at Mickey. “Fine.” And with that she walked back into the room, closing the door.”

“So, uh..” Ian started.

“So?”

“That your girlfriend?” the redhead questioned the shorter man, to get a huff of laughter from the latter. “What?”

“I don’t do relationships, Gallagher,” Mickey responded. “I wanted a fuck and she’s always fuckin’ ready for me. It’s easier than to just fuck a different girl every time I get horny.”

“There’s always your hand.”

“You fucking kidding me?” Mickey gave the redhead a ‘what the fuck’ look. “Why the fuck should I rely on my hand when I have girls tryin’ to get in my fucking pants?”

“You sound incredibly classy, Mick,” the redhead quipped, only to get another huff of laughter out of the dark-haired man.

“The classiest.”

While they shared a mutual sense of humour, Ian’s heart was sagging in his ribcage, expanding and contracting slightly. His sadness was covered by happiness, like a fresh coat of paint over a crack on the wall. Except that the crack on the wall was  _fucking huge_ and the new paint might crack as well. And how many more fresh coats of paint do you slap on before getting annoyed?

He had to get over Mickey. And fast.

** ************ **

The Milkovich household and the Gallagher household were polar opposites. In the Gallagher household, the house radiated of sunshine and rainbows, and had an abundance of love. It smacked you in the face when you walked in, making you momentarily forget about their circumstances. It is always hustling and bustling with noise. In fact, Ian would be more concerned if the house was silent.

The Milkovich household however, was cold, the aftermath of a city after a tornado ripped through it, destroying anything close to it. It would reek of neglect and abuse and would almost always be empty—because, why would you want to be anywhere close to the place where your mother died and your father abused you?

When Ian walked in and was given hugs, he felt at peace. Like he was home. But the interrogating about his ring didn’t cease. Questions like  _when did you get married_ and  _who is it_ and  _when can we meet him_ surfaced and Ian didn’t know how to answer any of them, so he didn’t. He changed the subject. Until the others left and it was just Debbie.

When Ian stared at his little sister, she didn’t seem so little. She seemed like she aged ten years. After becoming a mother, she was programmed to look at the world in a different light; to be weary and to always care about others first. She was on the right path at first, momentarily derailed and got lost, but it seemed like she had found the path again and was sauntering down on it.

“So you’ve been with your husband all this time?” Debbie questioned, balancing Franny on her hip.

“Uh.. sure,” the redhead said.

“That doesn’t sound certain.”

“It is.”

Debbie analyzed her older brother’s face—from his soft green eyes to the golden specks littered across his space, to catch on anything he was hiding. But it seemed like he was hiding a million things, so which one does she catch onto? “Ian, what’s going on?”

_ There it is.  _ That ‘concerned mother’ tone. Eyebrows drawn together in worry, and eyes reflecting worst case scenarios. Ian had seen it before; in Fiona.

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Ian.”

“Debbie.”

“There’s no husband, is there?” Debbie questioned. Ian sighed and put down his cup of hot chocolate down.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“I promise not to tell anyone if you plan on telling the others soon.”

“I don’t.”

“Then no.”

Ian sighed. “Debs, just.. just do this for me. Please? I’m trusting you here.”

Debbie chewed on her lip, searching her older brother’s face, the desperate expression over it like a thin film of cotton. As the seconds crawled by, Ian’s mind ran wild of what his little sister’s answer might be. It was aggravatingly long—like Debbie was settling a huge battle in her head. Then, Ian could hear a quiet “fine.”

“I am married,” Ian said slowly, like he was tasting his own words (and they tasted really fucking horrible), “but it’s not to a man.”

“Okay,” the redheaded girl responded, “how’s that bad? You’re bisexual, then.”

“No I’m still gay,” Ian reassured his little sister.

“Then.. why are you married to a girl?” Debbie’s face was scrunched up in confusion.

“She needed.. help. Financially. I decided, with my job, she’ll get benefits. Plus I have a 401K. Which is good, right? So I married her, and it’s been going really well. Like we’re not.. having intercourse or anything, that would be weird. We’re just like friends but she’s a Gallagher, and that’s okay, right? That’s not bad. It’s just me helping a girl out.” He knew he was rambling but his mouth was running faster than his brain would, vomiting any words that he thought of.

“Wait, slow down,” Debbie said. “You married this girl because she was poor? Ian, every girl in this neighborhood is poor. Does that mean you’re gonna go around marrying all of them?”

“She has a kid, Debs. The father left, and she has no money.”

“So pretty much me like, a year ago,” Debbie commented. “Why does it matter so much to you? This is the same story being repeated. Some girl gets knocked up and the dude leaves. I’m glad you were looking out for her, but—”

“It’s Mandy,” Ian sighed, “I’m married to Mandy.”

Debbie stayed silent for a long time, staring at her older brother. “As in, Mandy  _Milkovich?_ Lip’s ex, Mandy?”

“Yeah.”

“How the fuck did you think that was a good idea, Ian?” Debbie cursed, shooting out of her seat. “Was this impulsive? Are you manic? Are your meds not working? Are you not taking your meds?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Ian sighed. “I’m fine. Okay? Mandy’s done so much for me, this is the only way I can repay her. Just.. don’t tell anyone. Especially not Lip.”

“Ian, I can’t—”

“You  _promised_ not to.” Ian stared into those soft light brown eyes, that were almost golden in the light of the sun filtering through the dingy windows.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Okay. But you’re gonna tell Lip soon.”

“Debs—”

“I’m not budging on this, Ian,” Debbie interrupted, index finger pointing towards the redhead. “This has been dragged on for too long already. He deserves to know. And he deserves to know the reason why.”

Ian didn’t respond. Because he knew she was right. He knew that it was only right to tell his older brother. But he just didn’t know  _how_ to bring it up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the words in italics (besides mickey's thoughts) are glimpses of the night prior. they're not mickey's memory.

_Loud music snaking around his heart and hitting it. Hands grabbing his hips. Breathy moans being leaked out of his mouth, flowing out with the blood from his lip when he was digging his teeth into the soft flesh. He felt so full. He felt so many contradicting feelings at the same time. Pleasure. Shame. Liberation. Disgust. Contentment. Unhappiness._

Mickey’s head was pounding in his skull and his skin was covered with a thin film of sweat. His mouth was dry and whenever he swallowed he felt the disgusting feeling of nausea hidden in his gullet. He fucking hated this feeling—this feeling of almost death. Like he was kissing death on the lips.

Throwing the covers off of him and swinging his legs to the edge of the bed, he pushed his heels into his eyes, until he could see dots dancing on a black canvas. It wasn’t fucking helping. He could smell the scent of sex lingering on his body, hinting at what he’d done the night prior, but not _who_ he’d done it with. Which didn’t bother him. His fucks had nameless faces and bodies. He wanted their bodies, not their names.

He knew too many people anyways.

Groaning, he got up and walked to the bathroom, hoping for the hot water to trickle down his sweat covered skin, wash away his disgust and watch it go down the drain, only to get a rude awakening with cold water. _Might as well make the fucking best of it._ He sighed and cleaned himself, each droplet feeling like ice dropping on his shoulders, melting, and rolling off of him.

Getting out, anger clouded at his siblings who were in a rush to get out. “Does anyone fuckin’ know how to not use up the hot water? We’re already fucking late on bills anyways.”

“I’ll pull extra shifts at the diner I work at to help. Are you looking for jobs?”

“I am,” Mickey grumbled. “Fingers crossed that an employer is dumb enough to let me in their company.” He crossed his index and middle fingers, voice coated with sarcasm and face reflecting the lack of hope he had. His eyes landed on the redhead, who was staring at his cup of tea, long fingers circling the mug; as if he could absorb the heat from the beverage.

“Can you guys look after Gabe for me?” Mandy inquired, causing the dark-haired man to look back at his sister. _She looks so thin and weary._ “I have a night shift.”

“Fuck no,” Mickey answered at the same time Ian said “sure.” Mickey glanced back at the redhead, expecting to have moss green eyes staring back at him, but those eyes took interest in the brown drink in front of him.

_“The fuck are you doing here?”_

_“The fuck are_ you _doing here? Don’t you have a fucking wife and a child to take care of?”_

“I was asking Ian, dipshit,” Mandy responded. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t give a fuck about the kid.” There were accusatory tones lurking in her voice, even though she fought to keep it nonchalant; like she didn’t care that her brother didn’t care about her son when it was quite the contrary. But what the fuck did she expect, Mickey to be over the moon about the new addition to the Milkovich family? What was there to be happy about? The kid’s gonna be fucked up, Mickey knew it.

“I’ll be home before your shift starts, Mands, don’t worry about it,” the redhead finally spoke up, eyes lifting to meet sapphire eyes; only they weren’t meeting Mickey’s.

_“I don’t love her. Not that way, at least. She doesn’t love me that way either.”_

_“Then why the fuck are you with her?”_

_“Why do you think?”_

Mickey’s head hurt, and the water still clinging onto his hair seemed like a dead weight; even though his hair was slowly drying. Walking to the cluttered kitchen when everyone else but Mickey, Mandy, Gabe, and Ian had evacuated the household, he opened the cabinets. When Mandy and Ian had dissolved into a hushed conversation, Mickey's ears perked up and, as if they were finely tuned microphones, picked up any sound coming out of their voices.

“.. I’m fine, Mands, this isn’t an episode,” the redhead said in a hushed voice. _Episode? The fuck does he mean by that?_

“You just seem.. off today. That’s all.”

“I feel more stable than I have in months, promise,” the redhead responded, and Mickey could almost see him turning his head to the dark-haired man. “I gotta go to work anyways.”

“You can call in sick, if you want.”

“Need the money, Mands.” And with that, he walked to Mandy’s room, closing the door.

“Are you gonna fucking leave the fridge door open?” Mandy huffed, obviously irritated. “You fucking said we were late on bills and then you pull this kinda shit. If the fridge stops working, I’m going to bash your head in.”

Mickey closed the door and turned to look at his sister, furrowing his eyebrows. “Yeah? With what?”

“Whatever I can find.”

Mickey opened the fridge door, much to Mandy’s chagrin, and pulled a beer can out, before closing it again and leaning against the door, coolly staring at her sister, who was balancing Gabe on her hip and cleaning his mouth. “The fuck’s up with your boytoy?” it came out before Mickey could stop it from coming out. It screamed _I give a fuck_ when he wanted them to think otherwise.

“The fuck do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “What, you’ve borrowed your husband’s enormous set of balls today?”

“I might have, yeah,” Mandy responded curtly, eyes finally landing on her brother. “The fuck does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t.” He took a sip of his cool beer, the bitter taste not mixing well with the hangover clutching onto him. He didn’t give a shit anyways. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Cause it was fucking stupid. And so is your fucking urge to pretend to not give a shit. I don’t care if you and Ian wanna be friends, knock yourselves out.”

Mickey sipped his beer, and stood up straight. “I don’t want to be your husband’s fucking friend.” He wasn’t lying. He didn’t want to be Ian’s friend; friends didn’t want what Mickey wanted from Ian. He chastised himself for even _thinking_ about it that way, and walked to his room, closing the door and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He shook his head, as if to shake away the thoughts that still haunted him.

He didn’t like men. And he most certainly didn’t want Ian.

 

****************

“You have another fucking day to pay up, Samson,” Mickey threatened. “Or Imma take this fucking revolver and shoot your wife and kids. I doubt you want that to fucking happen.” His fist was throbbing in pain and his calves were screeching in pain. Samson was short but he was quick when he ran, but Mickey was quicker. As soon as he got the man backed into a corner, the bat in his hands came down with a sickening _crunch,_ followed by fists and feet that did nothing but harm.

He gave another kick to Samson’s ribs after getting up from his crouched position. Walking away, as if he didn’t beat the shit out of a man that didn’t pay up when he should’ve. Mickey didn’t even know what Samson didn’t pay for—he just knew that he stole from Terry with sweet words promising his father that Samson will pay back. The less Mickey knew, the better.

He knew that he wouldn’t hurt Samson’s wife and kids. He couldn’t get himself to put his grimy hands on women and children while intending to hurt them. The threat was as empty as the neighborhood in this time of the night, but Samson didn’t need to know that. No one needed to know other than Mickey.

He was too tired to travel to any clubs to get his rocks off, too sore—and not in the good way—to walk to the L, so he headed home. Where he knew Ian and Gabe would be; two people he was hoping to avoid.

Maybe Ian would be outside with Gabe, Mickey naively thought, which meant the whole house was to himself. However he knew that even if the redhead was outside with the kid, he’d come home around this time anyways. _Fuck._

_“It’s fine to be gay—” the redhead started, mouth opened to finish his sentence with something uplifting to help carry Mickey’s heavy thoughts and emotions. Mickey’s thoughts were steel and Ian was merely a human. If the dark-haired man couldn’t carry them, neither could the ginger._

_“I’m_ not _gay.” Those were the only three words that could be forced out while Mickey felt disgust coursing through his veins. Was it disgust at himself or at the man in front of him? Mickey didn’t know. Mickey was too drunk and high to do actual damage to the ginger—not that he wanted to—so he opted for a glare. “You better not fucking tell anyone about this.”_

_“Your secret’s safe with me.”_

_“How do I know that?”_

_“You don’t. But it’s not gonna magically make me want to fucking tell everyone about you being gay.”_

_“I’m not fucking gay, goddamn it.”_

The door opened with a _creak_ and, much to the dark-haired man’s annoyance, Ian was on the couch, fooling with his phone. Green eyes landed on the bruised hand. “Should I ask what happened?”

“If you want to be answered with a ‘mind your fucking business, Red’ then yeah,” the dark-haired man grumbled. “Greg asleep?”

“Gabe. And yeah. He just went to sleep.”

“I’m glad Gage is out of your fucking hair.” This time, he purposefully messed up the kid’s name, and his smirk gave it away.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” the redhead grinned.

“You just realized that?’

“I realized it a while ago,” Ian responded.

“You still have a lot to know about me, then,” the dark-haired man.

“I know more about you than you think I do,” the redhead admitted, his green eyes never leaving Mickey’s face. Mickey’s throat closed in on itself, sealing it shut from his mouth. His voice had abandoned him, ran away with any logic, out the cracked windows of what he called home.

“That’s fucking creepy, man,” Mickey let out a laugh that was borderline a nervous giggle, when his voice had run back to him.

“Mick. I know.” His gaze was unwavering, and his tone had exposed everything Mickey was fearful of.

"Know what?" Mickey asked, trying to play it off as nonchalant.

"The club in Boystown last night," Ian responded slowly, "you were walking out an alley after fucking some dude, I assume and I was smoking." He paused. "You don't remember.. do you?"

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mickey blurted out, walking towards his room.

“Mick—” Mickey felt a hand on his shoulder. He felt queasy—queasier than he did in the morning. He shoved it off like it was something disgusting, like _Ian_ was disgusting, and Mickey didn’t want to get infected. At the same time, his touch ignited a flame Mickey didn’t know was stomped out by him. It warmed him, the tongue of the flame licking his body.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Mickey yelled, disgust turning into anger, and anger coursing out of him fervently. “I’ll.. fuck.. I’ll tell Mandy I saw you cheating on her.”

The redhead didn’t show any signs of fear. He didn’t plead for Mickey to keep his mouth shut, and neither did he slink away like a coward, wounded animal. He stood his ground like an untouched lion, ready to defend himself. Mickey would’ve admired his courage if it were any other situation. Tell the redhead he got guts. But it was _this_ situation, a situation which didn’t even appear in Mickey’s worst nightmares. “She knows.”

Mickey was confused. “What?”

“She knows I’m gay. We’re not actually in love. She’s with me for financial benefits.”

Mickey’s shoulders sagged a bit. It made sense. It was a stupid idea but it made sense. He wanted to stay in solitude, mull over his thoughts in silence, and that was what he intended to do. “Whatever man, I don’t give a fuck about your complicated love life.” He opened his door.

“Hey, Mick,” the redhead said, making the shorter man look at him. “Please, just.. don’t tell anyone.”

Mickey wanted to tell him to fuck off. Wanted to throw slurs at the redhead the way Terry threw slurs at Mickey. But he looked into the man, and saw pleading eyes. The lion wasn’t there; instead there was a man with a huge basket of laundry that he wanted to hide from everyone. So the dark-haired man nodded.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyy, i updated!! i'm sorry about the delayed updates, i just didn't find time. i'll try to update more frequently y'all. anyways, if you live in america, how was your thanksgiving?


	7. Chapter 7

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Sue,” Ian sighed, weariness setting inside him like water in a sponge—pulling him down. She muttered a goodbye. She was tired as he was; if not, more. They had pulled a 24 hour shift, and couldn’t wait to get home. Sue to her apartment and Ian to the Milkovich household. Walking out into the cool air slapping his alabaster skin, Ian shoved his hands in his pocket and walked to the L.

The night was clear, with no stars dancing on it like little sequins. The only light spilling onto the sidewalk were lights inside buildings. His breath came out in small grey puffs, billowing out into the cold air in front of him. _Fuck the cold._

Weeks passed ever since both Mickey and Ian had broken a wall between each other, and the redhead didn’t see much of a difference in their relationship, which sucked. He was starting to like the man, even though he knew it was a slippery slope. But he wouldn’t mind sliding down on it, even if it meant that he’d risk an injury. It was sort of.. masochistic. Ian loved the slow burn of developing a crush, as if it was his own pet, growing and manifesting itself inside him.

Mickey _would not_ admit that he’s gay. Ian wasn’t surprised. _He_ even denied being gay for so long, even when he’d prefer magazines full of hard muscles and flat chests instead of soft curves and billowy chests. He thought it was a phase, but that phase became a part of him. The stage of denial is hard, and long, so very long. Being at a war with what you are and what you should be is a call for bloodbath.

He didn’t even fucking know why he was thinking of the dark-haired man when he had to think of how to tell Lip that he’s been married to Mandy all this time and had been lying to Lip’s face. ‘ _Hey, man, listen, I married your ex. But don’t worry! It’s totally platonic and she’s only with me for the money!’_

_Christ._

Ian huffed loudly and opened the door, his heart growing wings and fluttering about in his ribcage when he saw his crush playing a video game, towel hanging over his muscular shoulders, and only wearing a pair of pants. He had seemed to recently get out of the shower since the overwhelming sweet scent of soap filled the dingy room, dark, wet hair plastered to his forehead, and water droplets hung on his milky skin for dear skin before rolling down. Ian wanted to lick them off of him.

Ian shook his head, as if he could shake off the thoughts that plagued his mind. The truth was, he was into Mickey way before he knew Mickey liked cock, but the asshole behavior clouded his attraction like fog across a city. But the fog cleared and Ian could see the blue sky stretched over the horizon—blue was now his favourite colour.

“What game you playing?”

“GTA,” the dark-haired man replied, not sparing a glance at the redhead’s way, blue eyes plastered on the screen. Ian sat far away from the man; he didn’t know what he’d do if Mickey’s snow white skin grazed his freckled skin.

Well, he did, but he’d rather not think about it. He wasn’t trying to get a fucking _boner._ He instead focused on the horrendous driving Mickey was doing in his car, his car swerving onto the sidewalk and running over people. “Remind me to never get into a car with you.”

The older man raised his eyebrow. “I’d like to see _you_ fuckin’ driving perfectly in this game.”

“You could.”

“I’m not done yet, Freckles.” His tongue stuck out in the corner of his mouth in concentration. Ian thought it was adorable. Of course, he didn’t audibly admit that. He didn’t want the controller to break his nose. “Take a picture, it lasts longer,” the man said, startling Ian out of his thoughts. A red stain crept up Ian’s neck as he turned away, hating that he acted like a fucking schoolgirl.

“Fuck off,” Ian retorted with no heat behind it.

Mickey grinned a small bit—his teeth being flashed slightly. This time, Ian _wanted_ to take a picture. To memorize the man’s features, seeing him this careless and fucking.. _happy,_ dare he say it. There was no scowl etched on his features, no quip or sardonic comment that chased Ian’s words. It was just him, without the metal protection of his grumpy demeanor. Ian preferred this Mickey. “I’ve been meaning to ask.. does he know?”

“Who?”

“Your smartass brother.” _Oh, fuck._ Ian knew exactly what Mickey was talking about; _‘does Lip know that you’re with his ex girlfriend, even though you’re gay?’_ He let his silence speak volumes, mostly because he didn’t want to hear his own voice form a stupid reason as to why he didn’t. But also partially because he didn’t know any stupid reason. Mickey interpreted the silence as a ‘no’, and nodded his head slightly. “Scared of him?”

The redhead scoffed. “Am not.”

“Then tell him.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Ian hesitated with grabbing his phone. “It’s really late.”

“Then leave a fucking voicemail talking about what you did, if you ain’t a pussy,” the dark-haired man retorted. Annoyance filled Ian’s body. _There it is,_ he thought, _those plates of armour he uses so no one could cut through his cloth and skin and reach his heart._

“It’s not that simple,” the redhead countered back.

“Yeah, and you put yourself in this complicated situation. Get out of it.” His character died and he put the controller away, turning his head to the redhead. “You’re the one who got fuckin’ married to her, took care of the kid, when you knew Lip and her had history. Your heart’s in the right fuckin’ place, but it’s too fucking big and unreasonable. So call him, or don’t. Whatever, man. You'll have to deal with the consequences, not me.” He stood up, muscles flexing and moving at the movement. Ian was too annoyed to even pay attention to the little details.

“I’d like it if you mind your business,” Ian said, too harshly. The harshness probably caused the older man to whip his head back at the redhead. In any other situation, Ian would’ve cowered under the intensity of the annoyance building up in his eyes, the way water fills up in an empty glass.

“Really?” Mickey finally said, his eyebrows raised up high. “You’re telling _me_ to mind my fuckin’ business?” he crossed his arms.

“That’s what I said, yeah,” Ian responded, gazing coolly back at Mickey. Mickey’s eyes a clear blue ocean while Ian’s were more like swamps. He knew he was taking his frustrations of being married to the wrong person and not being able to tell Lip out on the dark-haired man, but it was out and mingling with the air. He couldn't pluck it out of the air and swallow it back in.

“So you’re going to become a little shit because I was being fucking honest?” he uncrossed his arms, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“I don’t need someone to remind me that I’m a fucking pussy for not being able to tell him, okay?” Ian sighed, “I know it’s fucking wrong, and I know that this was a stupid fucking idea, so you can either shut up about it or leave me the fuck alone.” He turned his back to the dark-haired man, not baring the latter’s emotions written across his face. He heard footsteps descending to Mickey's room, and his heart sank like an anchor, his hopes the ship.

He felt footsteps ascending, and the dark-haired man’s voice. “You wanna make pizza bagels?” Ian turned around to look at the dark-haired man, his phone clutched in his hand. He ditched his towel for a wife-beater. “I ain’t spendin’ extra money on delivery and shit. I don’t wanna make ‘em anyways, either, so I was hopin' you'd do the honours for me.”

“What?” Ian asked, confused.

Mickey sighed exasperatedly. “Pizza bagels. Y’know, food? I have a craving for them and I want you to make 'em."

“No, I..” Ian sighed. “Never mind. Sure.”

Mickey let out a huff of laughter before plopping on the couch and grabbing his controller again. “Took you fuckin’ long enough.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “I’ll make some as soon as I change. My uniform is like covered in barf and shit.”

“Save the details and go fuckin’ change,” the dark-haired man groaned, waving the redhead away. As Ian walked into the room and undressed, he couldn’t erase the smile off of his lips. Being in this position with a man he wanted was hard, very hard. It was a poisonous treat for himself, and he knew it was poisonous, yet he still ate it. Because the treat was good.

Even if he died in the end by feeding himself poison, it’ll all be worth it.


	8. Chapter 8

A wail wakes Mickey up from his nap.

“Shut him up!” Mickey yelled into the air, only to groan when Gabe’s wails become screams. “Holy _fuck._ ” Pushing himself up from the bed, he could feel a headache forming in his brain. Stumbling to Gabe’s crib, to find the little guy thrashing in his blankets. “Alright, shut up, I’m here.” His hands reached towards the baby, but all he did was stare at Gabe in confusion. He’s never held a baby, let alone take care of one by himself. He was a baby himself when Mandy was born. Cursing at both Mandy and Ian, he picked the boy up clumsily and placed an arm under the boy’s diaper, the other arm wrapped around Gabe. It felt clumsy and awkward and the baby’s face was way too close to his own, his screams echoing in Mickey’s ear canals.

 _What the fuck did Mandy do when he cried like this?_ Bouncing on the balls of his feet, rubbing Gabe’s back, he felt annoyed and awkward. The cries died down as the baby’s small head rested on Mickey’s shoulder, his tiny arms around the dark-haired man’s neck.

“You good?” Mickey asked the baby, as if the baby could reply. “You’re not gonna fucking scream in my ear again?” Gabe didn’t scream; neither did he reply, much as Mickey expected. “You fucking ruined my nap. Do I scream into _your_ ear? No because that’ll probably make you cry even more and shit.” He didn’t know what he was doing, but he hated it. He hated how he felt suffocated in a baby’s embrace, how he was rubbing and patting the baby’s back like he was fucking made to do it.

“I’m gonna put you down,” Mickey announced to the baby, bending over to carefully put Gabe into the crib, only for to Gabe scream. His tiny hands clutched onto Mickey’s shirt, not letting his uncle put him down. “Holy fu—okay, alright!” He picked Gabe up into his arms again, annoyance grabbing his mind and tampering with it.

Gabe quieted down immediately, molding into his uncle. This wasn’t good, he shouldn’t get attached to Mickey. Mickey didn’t give a fuck about him, and things are going to be difficult if Gabe did love his uncle, like a boy in a normal family should.

But Mickey was trapped into being a normal uncle; carrying the baby everywhere, changing his diapers, feeding him, doing everything he couldn’t remember his own father doing to him. It was strange, caring for an infant when he didn’t know how to care for anyone in general. Envious thoughts whispered in his ears but he pushed them away—just because Mickey wasn’t cared for doesn’t mean he should be jealous of Gabe being cared for.

The hour passed with Gabe asleep on Mickey’s chest, and Mickey playing video games, the noise muted so Gabe wouldn’t be disturbed. The door unlocked and Ian walked in; hair disheveled and the first three buttons on his plaid shirt unbuttoned. His milky white neck had a small lovebite; stripes of red and white baring out to the world. Mickey didn’t stop the envious thoughts from whispering in his ear now; in fact, he _welcomed_ it. He didn’t understand why the jealousy was there, but he chalked it up to not being able to get out and that he had to play ‘babysitter’; or, at least tried to.

“Looks like you had fun,” Mickey commented as nonchalantly as possible—which wasn’t nonchalant; his tone having hints of harshness.

“I did,” the redhead smirked. “Gabe alright?”

“He is, thanks to me,” Mickey responded. “Nice hickey. What are you, 14?”

“Hickeys are hot, fuck off,” the redhead defended, and took his step son in his arms. There was a weird emptiness on Mickey’s chest since the slight pressure was taken off of him. The redhead placed the kid in the crib, before walking back to the ratty couch and taking a seat next to the dark-haired man. The sharp smell of cologne infiltrated Mickey’s nostrils and he wanted to do nothing but bathe in it.

“You fucked your date?” Mickey inquired.

“No,” Ian answered, “third base.”

The older man snorted. “Lame. And you got a stupid ass bruise on your neck.” He noticed from the corner of his eye that Ian watched the him play. This has become a ritual for the duo; Mickey would be on the couch playing, Ian would watch, while they talked. Sometimes they’d pause for food or if Ian wanted to play. It was like a choreographed dance between the two, and Mickey knew it like the back of his hand.

“It’ll be gone if I press a cold spoon onto it,” the redhead shrugged. “He was hot though. Big lips, nice eyes. Really sharp jawline. I swear, I could cut my finger with his jawline.”

“Why don’t you fuckin’ marry him?” Mickey inquired gruffly. He didn’t understand why it annoyed him. Or, maybe he did, but he didn’t want to. Either way, the bitter taste of jealousy mingled with sadness forced its way down his gullet.

“You jealous of me getting some instead of you?” The redhead teased, nudging the older man with his elbow, pushing him slightly, causing a couple ‘ay, ay, ay!’s to rise out of the latter.

“You barely got any,” Mickey denied, “stop pushing, you’re gonna make me fuckin’ lose.” Much to his annoyance, the redhead kept nudging him. “I’m gonna beat your ass with this controller if I lose.”

“I bet you won’t,” the redhead huffed, as his pushes became more forceful. Mickey shoved the redhead back, which caused a fight between the two shoving each other. Much to  Mickey's annoyance, he lost.

“Come here, Freckles,” Mickey threatened, wrestling the redhead. However, as lean as Ian may look, he was strong. _Real_ strong. Mickey had finally got hold of the upper hand and pinned the redhead to the couch, straddling his chest, the controller raised high above his head, about to come down to the redhead’s face.

Only it didn’t come down.

Ian’s face was right between Mickey’s legs, where his half-hard cock was. His lips were parted, and his eyebrows were drawn together in fear. Mickey should leave. He should get off of the redhead, go to his room, and take care of himself. But the fire that can only be lit by _Ian fucking Gallagher_ was blazing furiously, igniting his lower abdomen with the familiar feeling of need and lust. He _wanted_ the redhead, and there was no point in denying it now.

Sapphire eyes locked into emerald ones, fear turning into surprise, and surprise turning into lust. Mickey dropped the controller to the ground and took his shirt off, getting off the redhead. Ian got off the couch and pulled his shirt off with the help of Mickey, whose fingers had a mind of their own as they travelled down the chiseled torso. Their legs carried them to Mickey’s room as clothes were carelessly strewn all over.

“Condom?” Ian asked, but the one word question barely registered with Mickey’s brain. He was staring at Ian, who was naked. He looked like he was made from stone, and his hard cock was so very long and thick. Mickey’s mouth salivated at the thought of the cock inside him.

“They’re not gonna fit you,” the dark-haired man finally answered, reluctantly locking eyes with the redhead, before tossing the taller man a packet of lube and getting on his knees on his bed. The redhead caught it with ease and ripped open the packet, coating his long fingers with lube before inserting one inside the older man. He was overcome by the burning sensation as he hissed in pleasure and pain, head dropping between his shoulders. The burning sensation soon gave way to pleasure as Ian found his prostate. Mickey bit his lip hard, refusing to let any sound leak out of his mouth.

The redhead made rotations with his fingers, tips of his fingers rubbing Mickey’s prostate. Mickey’s mouth filled with a coppery taste as his teeth broke the flesh of his lower lip. A moan was being threatened to be let out, but there was no way Mickey would let it out.

“I’m good, man, stop fuckin’ teasin’ me,” Mickey finally said. The redhead pulled his fingers out, grabbed Mickey's hips, and eased himself into Mickey. It hurt, it hurt badly. But the feeling of being full and the soft slaps of skin coming into contact with his balls made him painfully hard. The cool metal of Ian’s wedding band felt relieving against Mickey’s hot skin. The soft grunts coming from Ian filled the room with the slaps of skin against skin. Mickey felt way too good to give a shit about how fucked this may be.

All logic was thrown out the fucking window when Mickey saw Ian shirtless. Hell, he threw it out himself. And even though he’s never bottomed while fully sober, he wanted to keep doing it. He loved feeling full, the paradoxical feelings of pleasure and pain clashing together to create a beautiful, out-of-this-world emotion. The fire inside him was burning and his brain _finally_ shut up.

His hand flew to his cock as he tugged on it at the same speed Ian was fucking him at, which was fast. As the redhead angled his hips to hit Mickey’s prostate, Mickey thought he died and went to heaven. The pleasure filled him the way water fills up a cup.

“I-I’m gonna—” Ian stuttered, and Mickey felt the warm liquid of cum filling him. He was teetering on the edge himself, and came onto his bed sheets. The redhead wilted inside him as he pulled out, and as pleasure slowly ebbed away, the shame and horror of what he did sank their teeth into him.

The duo got dressed in silence, refusing to meet each other’s eyes. Mickey’s eyes flashed to the wedding band around the redhead’s finger, and wondered how such a disgusting thing could feel so good to him—both the band resting against his skin, and a man that he barely knew.

He would never, ever do this again. Not with Ian.

 

****************

He did it again, with Ian. Multiple times, actually. There was something about the redhead that Mickey couldn’t avoid; like a moth to a flame, he was attracted, hovering near the flame. The pleasure infiltrated him and filled him up, and felt better than any other drug he tasted. But like drugs, the good feeling doesn’t last forever. Instead of withdrawals, Mickey’s filled with shame and guilt.

His mind was split into three parts; one part wants him to accept what he won’t, the other part wants him to put on a persona of a straight man, like a mask that hid his ugly parts, and the third part is craving for Ian’s touch even though he knew it was wrong.

He wasn’t at war. This was worse. The three parts are joined together but are slowly ripping apart from each other, which leaves Mickey with nothing but pieces of a whole. But maybe that was what Mickey was; a human with pieces of a whole. And as much as he wanted to make the pieces fit, they won’t.

The gun was what distracted him from falling apart, as its bullets flew out of the contraption and bit into the cloth of the dummy. _Bang._ He aimed for the heart and got the shoulder instead. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps hitting concrete, but he was still startled when a voice distracted him. “Mandy was right.”

Mickey turned, gun pointed towards the redhead, the latter raising his hands in surrender. He lowered the gun. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“I was horny and you weren’t home.”

“I told you I’d be home at midnight.”

“It’s 1, Mick.”

“No it fucking isn’t.” He checked his phone, which flashed 1 AM. “Never mind. Mandy opened her fuckin’ mouth about where she thought I might be, huh?”

“She did,” the redhead replied.

“If you want a fuck we could do it in a bit. I’ll meet you at home.” He turned back to the dummy. “Or you could go to the fuckin’ club.” _Bang._ The bullet pierced the right arm.

“You really think all I want from you want is a fuck?”

“What, you want to fuckin’ take me out on dates and tell me how my suit brings out my eyes?”

“I think of you as a friend, Mick,” the redhead admitted. “I need a friend anyways.”

“So, you’re lonely.” Mickey didn’t care; he was too.

“I guess so,” Ian responded. Mickey was taken back by the honesty, and he put down his gun, turning his head to look at the redhead. The night illuminated half the redhead’s face, reflecting off of the green orb. He still looked perfect; every freckle on him were like sequins that were planned carefully, and his creamy white skin, pearly white teeth, pink lips and hair that seemed like the top of his head was ablaze.

He walked over to the redhead, taking out his cigarette pack and offering one stick to him. He took it and stuck it between his lips, pulling out his own lighter. Mickey followed suit with lighting a cigarette and took a drag before exhaling the tainted air through his nose. “I never had a friend.”

“Did you ever want a friend?”

“I don’t think so.” Mickey furrowed his eyebrows. “I didn’t give a fuck back then.” He leaned against the concrete wall, and the redhead did the same next to him. “Friends were fuckin’ stupid to me, you know? Why care about random people you meet when you couldn’t get yourself to care about your own fuckin’ family?”

“Do you care about your family now?”

Mickey stayed silent for a while and pondered. Did he? Or did he just defend them because he had to? “Do you?”

The redhead was in thought. “I don’t know. Probably. Only because they’re my family.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“It’s still a reason.” He took another drag and exhaled it through his mouth, then turned to the older man. “You didn’t answer my question.”

A thousand quips came to his mind. Some were harsh, some were teasing, but they were quips that distracted the redhead from the question. Mickey shrugged his shoulders. “I care about them because I have to.”

The redhead stayed in silence. “Have you ever cared about anyone just because you.. want the best for them?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” the dark-haired man repeated.

“Have you ever got that luxury to do—?” the redhead started.

“Jesus, do you wanna fucking interrogate me or do you wanna fuck?” Mickey interrupted, looking at the taller man. Ian smirked, cigarette between his lips, and turned Mickey around, as the latter undid his own pants.

Maybe he _was_ starting to care for someone; and it wasn’t because he had to.


	9. Chapter 9

Visiting the Gallaghers was always tiring.

Ian was always more quiet—swallowing his screams and only spitting out fragments of whispers. It wasn’t until he was manic that he craved for attention. By men older than him, who only thought his mouth was good for sucking dick. But attention is still attention, even if he was paying with his body for it.

However after he’s adjusted to his medication, he had slipped back in the shadows. He was more comfortable there anyways.

So when his siblings asked for more information about his life, he blanked. His situation was more complicated than a simple _it’s good._ Maybe it was _always_ really complicated.

“He must have you _really_ whipped to have you completely forget us, huh?” Fiona smirked. Ian’s emerald eyes met Debbie’s, their eye contact held for a millisecond before she looked down at her coffee cup.

“I didn’t forget about you,” the redhead replied somewhat defensively, “I just had.. a lot of shit to deal with.” Guilt ate away at him. They thought that he was married to someone that made him happy. That he really, genuinely liked.

Debbie had stayed eerily quiet until their other siblings had busied themselves in their own lives. Ian knew she was going to talk to him in that motherly tone—that she had adopted from Fiona, Ian noticed—about how _all of this is wrong_ and _they’re bound to find out one day, and it’d better be from you_. Everything Ian already knew but didn’t want to think of.

“When are you gonna tell him?” she questioned.

Ian sighed. “I don’t fuckin’ know.” He covered his face with his hands.

“It’s gonna get worse the more you wait.”

“I know, Debs. I can’t fucking bring it up.” He lifted his head to look at his little sister. “How do you bring up ‘oh hey I’m married to your ex girlfriend to help out with her kid, please don’t be mad’ into a conversation?”

She chewed on her lip. “Fair enough.” She paused before adding, “I think you should just say it. Rip it off like a bandaid.”

“This isn’t a bandaid. He’s gonna fucking hate me.”

“He is.”

“Gee, thanks for the optimism,” the redhead quipped. “I mean, am I doing something that bad? Stupid, yes, but who the fuck else would’ve helped Mandy? Not her family, that’s for sure. Not Lip either.”

“You’re not obligated to help her.”

“She’s my best friend,” he answered, “I am. If the roles were reversed and I was saddled with a kid? She’d do anything she could to help me.”

Debbie stayed quiet. “You should still tell Lip as soon as possible. Waiting is worse.”

“I will.”

She nodded and smiled, turning her head when Lip walked in. Ian’s stomach dropped to his ankles, feeling like a hundred pounds and one pound at the same time. “Hey,” Lip greeted.

“Hi,” Ian greeted back, smiling.

“When’d you come here?” Lip questioned.

“Half an hour ago,” Ian answered as Debbie remained quiet.

“How’s it going?” he smirked, “guess you’re comfortable being hitched to some dude now, huh?”

“No, I just had a bunch of shit to deal with,” the redhead replied.

“You’ve seen Mandy?” Lip questioned. “Has a baby on her hip.” He took out a can of coke, cracking it open as the _crack_ and _sizzle_ of the can opening filled the room.

“His name’s Gabe,” the redhead informed his brother, his heart swelling up twice its size. He had gotten attached to the boy, seeing him as family. He was as close to a father that Gabe had gotten.

“So you do talk to her,” he said.

“I do,” the redhead replied. _This is your chance. Just tell him—rip it off like a bandaid._ “Listen, about Mandy—”

A notification distracted the trio, Lip took out his phone and checked the message. “Hey, uh, I’ll talk to you later, okay? Nice seeing you again.” He hugged the redhead before walking out, Ian covering his face again with his hands as he heard the door close.

This was going to be impossible.

 

****************

Mandy being able to take the responsibility to take care of Gabe off of Ian’s hands was something that sometimes happened. It wasn’t that Ian minded when he was taking care of Gabe, because _shit_ he had really gotten attached to the boy. But he felt some of the responsibility shed off of him like an extra layer of skin.

Before, not taking care of Gabe meant he could go outside and fuck some random man or stay inside and take naps. With the relationship Mickey and Ian established, he could stay inside and still get laid.

“You seriously haven’t watched the Harry Potter series?” the redhead questioned, raising an eyebrow as he sat down next to the older man on the ratty couch, both of them situated in the living room.

“I seriously haven’t,” the dark-haired man replied.

“How?”

“Who the fuck would even take me to watch some stupid fucking movie about magic and shit?” Mickey said. “My mom was too busy gettin’ high and Terry was too busy being Terry.”

Pity coiled around him like a snake and slithered out of his throat before he could even stop it. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Save your pity for someone else, please.” A look of displeasure and disgust was etched on his face. Ian quieted and chewed on the chips that were on the table in front of them, trying to form a coherent sentence together, but couldn’t. “You gonna hog all the damn chips?” Mickey inquired, his voice light and teasing.

“I’m gonna hog all the damn chips,” Ian confirmed, smirking.

“Got somethin’ else for you to eat, Gallagher,” the dark-haired man replied.

“For that fucking cheesy pick-up line, I’m not going to do shit.”

“Come on, it was not fucking cheesy.”

“It’s cheesier than your pizza bagels.”

“You saying you _don’t_ like my pizza bagels?”

“No.”

“Good.” He licked the corner of his mouth, sapphire eyes raking lustfully up Ian’s body. “Let’s go to my room.”

“Sure,” the redhead responded.

“That wasn’t a fucking question, asshole, get up.” He pulled the redhead up to his feet before the duo walked over to the tiny room, closing the door behind him. As Mickey turned around, Ian leaned in to give him a kiss, only to be rejected by Mickey taking a step back. “Try that again, and I’m breaking your fucking teeth,” the older man threatened. For some reason, Ian thought that it wasn’t an empty threat—that Mickey would rather have his fist kiss Ian than his lips.

Ian let Mickey turn around, and get on his hands and knees on the bed after pulling his pants in. He let Mickey toss him the lube packet and bark at him to _get fuckin’ going._ He let Mickey act dominant for a couple more seconds; because the minute Ian’s fingers were inside Mickey, that dominance is going to melt. Mickey’s going to keen and grunt and be totally at Ian’s mercy.

Dominance was a tactic, an armor wielded out of metal that Mickey himself made. But with Ian, he allowed Mickey to take off that armor, to put his weapon and shield down. So when he slipped a finger inside Mickey’s hole and heard the hiss of pain and pleasure leak out of Mickey’s mouth, he could almost see Mickey taking his armor off.

Pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets when Mickey was loose enough, he poured a generous amount of lube on his hard dick. Mickey could barely touch Ian and his cock was throbbing, and hard as ever. As he grabbed Mickey’s hips and gently eased himself inside him, he let out a breathy moan.

Mickey’s head dropped between his shoulders, and Ian would _kill_ to be able to reach over and bite his shoulder, kiss the creamy skin stretched over his shoulder blades. He focused on the rhythmic motion of his hips as the sounds of soft grunts, low moans, and the slapping of skin on skin filled the room.

Ian angled his hips to hit Mickey’s prostate, the latter biting his knuckles to stop himself from moaning or making any noise of appreciation, but Ian knew by the way Mickey’s back arched slightly, or how the soft whimpers forced their way out of his mouth.

The redhead licked one of his palms and reached for the throbbing cock between Mickey’s legs, running his hand up and down the shaft. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Mickey managed to get out, as he shot his load onto Ian’s hand and the bed sheets. Ian, not far behind, threw his head back and shot his inside Mickey.

Both men dressed in silence, bothering to meet each other’s eyes; Mickey in embarrassment of what happened, and Ian in dread of his feelings for Mickey—which progressed and bloomed more than they were supposed to. They weren’t supposed to grow like vines; they were supposed to stay the same size, wilted, and away from the sun.

Ian didn’t know how to deal with what was happening. After hastily dressing himself, grabbing a coat and putting on shoes, he walked out of the house and let the cold air hit his skin and tousle his locks.

What the fuck did he just get himself into?


	10. Chapter 10

Mickey watched the redhead walk out, shaking his head as if this was a huge mistake. Which it was, for a number of reasons. But he couldn’t help but feel the beginning of sadness slowly drizzle down on him. He needed to stop before the drizzle turns into a thunder storm.

It didn’t matter if Gallagher wanted to quit fucking. They weren’t in a relationship—the door was wide open if the redhead decided to leave. But did Mickey want the door to be open?

He threw on his clothes and trudged to the kitchen, prying open the fridge door and reaching for a beer. He had a lot of stuff in his mind, and the only way to empty his mind is to drink alcohol.

“What’d I tell you about drinking inside around Gabe?” Mandy snapped at her older brother as she walked in the rickety household. Her eyes had zeroed in on Mickey chugging on his cold beer.

“You were fucking outside when I started drinking, asswipe,” the older man retorted, rolling eyes. “Me drinking doesn’t affect him in any way. I’m not shoving alcohol down his throat.”

“Maybe I just want at least one Milkovich in this fucked up house to not be around alcoholics and drug addicts,” the blonde replied, “is that too much to ask for?”

No, no it wasn’t. At all. If Mickey was a dad he wouldn’t want his child to be exposed to different substances. He wouldn’t want his child to see its family members drunk or passed out. “Fair enough.” He put his opened beer can back in the fridge. “Just tell the others that I’m kicking their asses if they drank from my opened can.”

Mandy’s facial features softened, and Mickey could see a hint of a smile under her tired stance. “Tell them yourself.”

_“Make room,” a voice whispered in the dark. Mickey knew who it belonged to, and obediently moved. Mandy was barely seven and Mickey was almost nine, and Mandy still needed protection of her older brother—who was scared shitless himself; of course, he didn’t admit it out loud—from their father’s drunken threats._

_Sometimes Mickey would listen to his parents’ screams while his little sister was sound asleep, and wonder if he’d end up like them when he grew up. Was he going to come in drunk, smelling like he bathed in a mixture of sweat and alcohol, and yell at his drugged up wife?_

_The thought of having a wife made him uncomfortable; like the shirts he’s outgrown for years now. But he still wears them because, well, he can’t afford to buy new shirts._

_“When do you think it’ll stop?” she questioned._

_“For the night?”_

_“For the night.”_

_“Probably until the morning, like last time. Or when Terry passes out.”_

_“We have school tomorrow,” she whimpered, her face nuzzled in Mickey’s chest. Mickey could feel her shiver and it wasn’t because she was cold._

_“I’ll tell you a story.”_

_She lifted her head to look at her older brother, her eyes twinkling in the dark. “A story?”_

_“Yeah. It’s a long one, so get comfortable.”_

The screaming and drunken threats didn’t cease. They were directed at Mandy instead, and her visits became less and less frequent until they vanished into thin air.

The silence of the house at night is odd—it makes the memories of abuse echo in Mickey’s mind until his ears were tricked into believing that Terry had stormed in drunk and was about to beat the shit out of everyone.

Gripping his beer can, Mickey walked out into the cold air, to be greeted by Gallagher’s back, staring into the ugly streets in front of them, sitting on the stairs of the porch. The _creak_ of the door closing caught Ian’s attention, as he looked over his shoulder to Mickey.

The older man swallowed. God, he looked beautiful with the streetlights caressing his soft skin and illuminating his eyes. Their eyes caught for a couple of seconds before Ian turned his head away from Mickey. It took a minute of Mickey drinking his beer and staring at the back of Ian’s head to muster up courage to speak. “The fuck are you doing out here?”

“Thinking,” the redhead replied, moving to the side so there’s room for Mickey to sit. The older man obliged, sitting beside him.

“Specific, Gallagher,” Mickey quipped before drinking his beer and offering it to Ian, who declined it. “You don’t have any fuckin’ caffeine, neither do you drink. How the fuck are you even surviving?”

“I’d love to drink coffee and drink myself numb,” the redhead replied, “but I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”

“No. I can’t.” Ian hesitated, musing over something in his head that Mickey couldn’t quite read. Finally, licking his lips, he turned to Mickey. “I have to take medication, for my mental illness. If I drink alcohol or coffee or smoke weed or some shit, it’s gonna fuck up my meds.”

Mickey gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “What kind of mental illness?”

“Bipolar,” the redhead explained, “it’s pretty much when I go from being manic to depressed. In this vicious cycle. My mom had it.” He paused. “When I’m manic, I’m impulsive. I have these crazy mood swings, and I feel.. invincible. Like nothing can crush me. I’ve done a lot of stupid impulsive shit when I was manic that doesn’t make sense to me now, but it used to before.

“When I’m depressed.. oh man.” He chuckled. “It’s like I have no energy to do anything. It’s the complete opposite of being manic. I can’t get out of my bed, can’t eat, can’t do shit. I’ve seen my family go to fucking shit because of this illness, I’ve seen how Monica’s behavior fucked us up. One minute, she’d be happy and throwing us parties, buying us what we want. The next, she’d be furious because we did something wrong. And then a couple weeks later she’d go to sleep and never get up again. And the cycle repeated itself, and she’d leave us for long periods of time, only to come back and do the same shit again.”

“So she’s out there, not medicated, doing shit you have no idea about?” Mickey questioned.

“Precisely.”

Mickey let out a low whistle. “I’ve heard of Monica, even seen her around. I just never knew she was..” he didn’t know the proper term. Sick? Not mentally well? They all seemed mean to him.

“Yeah,” the younger man nodded, saving Mickey from finishing the sentence. “I mean, I’m not like her. I don’t want to be _like_ her. I don’t want to be another fucked up person fucking up another generation of Gallaghers.” He paused. “Well, we’re Gallaghers, so they’d be fucked up either way.” He smirked at the dark-haired man, the latter smiling.

“Everyone’s fucked up here, Gallagher, join the club.”

“Not you,” the redhead disagreed. “I thought you’d be this person with serious issues that they hide by being a horrible person.”

“So, Terry,” Mickey pointed out.

“Yeah,” the redhead said. The duo stayed in silence, far away sirens reaching their ears.  Their arms were pressed together, the redhead’s body heat radiating to Mickey. Mickey’s heart was being squeezed gently by a hand that had pried into his skin and slipped between the cracks of his ribcage.

“When did you realize that you were..” Mickey’s voice trailed off into the night.

“That I was what?”

“Into men.”

Mickey could feel the redhead’s face turn to look at him, but he couldn’t get himself to lock eyes with Gallagher. “Fourteen, I guess. I tried to.. stifle it. You know? It wasn’t fucking okay to be gay around here, so I pretended it didn’t exist. But it was like one of those things that grew the more you didn’t give it attention.”

The dark-haired man played with his fingers. “You ever been with a girl?”

“Sexually?” Ian questioned. “No. I was close a couple times but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d make up some excuse like I was too drunk and I had whiskey dick or whatever. It just felt..” it was him that was trying to grasp at words that weren’t there.

“Wrong?” Mickey suggested, “like you were doing something that was fucking unnatural?”

“Yeah,” Ian nodded. “Didn’t feel like that when I got with men. It felt natural and right. It probably feels that way with you; right, like you were meant to be with boys, and you were meant to fuck ‘em. That’s how I knew I was gay.”

“But I’m not gay,” Mickey insisted. “This is some stupid phase that I’m going through.” The duo stayed silent again, this time the silence awkward and stifling them with its weight.

“Your sexuality and attraction towards specific genders isn’t a phase, it’s who you are. It won’t fuck off, no matter how much you want it to.” The redhead got up, patting Mickey’s shoulder. “I’m beat. I’m gonna go sleep. I’ll see you next morning.” The _creak_ of the door opening and closing and footsteps descending announced Ian’s departure. Mickey felt colder without the redhead as the wind tousled his dark locks.

This was just a phase. It couldn’t _not_ be a phase. He wasn’t actually gay.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if y'all noticed, i shortened this series by 3 chapters. only cause i'm planning on making a sequel after i'm done which will explore mickey and ian's relationship.
> 
> the difference in this fic that i haven't seen in the fics i've read, is that it's not only mickey that's hesitant about falling in love and being in a relationship. both of them have a ton of obstacles (internalized homophobia, marriage, etc) to deal with, so they do think that this fuckbuddy thing is the best decision for both of them. they are gonna get together and i am genuinely looking forward to finishing this story and starting the sequel ASAP. i hope y'all feel the same!
> 
> \- Gaylagher


	11. Chapter 11

****

Ian was falling down a hill that only led to destruction.

It wasn’t like he could stop it; he fucking tried to. But once you start falling you can’t stop. And maybe,  _just maybe,_ he was falling into a deeper hole that he dug himself into by registering the emotions he felt when he was with Mickey Milkovich. Or maybe he just stayed at the same spot, because it was impossible to dig any deeper.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to stop himself from his heart beating out of his chest, up his throat and out his mouth; he tried to stop the emotions from progressing. He tried to create distance between the two, but the more distance he created, the more he wanted to be closer to the older man. They were connected by a string that wouldn’t snap, no matter how hard the redhead tried to snap it in two.

The thought of Mickey coiled around Ian’s head and stayed on, like a headband. Ian was torn between taking it off and leaving it there. Even when he was out with Mandy, Mickey would creep into his head.

“It’s been a while since only the two of us just hung out,” Mandy pointed out, making the redhead nod.

“Yeah, it has.”

“It’s just work and shit,” she said, almost defending herself.

“It’s fine, I get it,” Ian responded dismissively. “I’ve been busy too. With my work and.. stuff.”

“You seein’ anyone?” she questioned, mildly curious. Ian mused two options; deny and make some bullshit excuse about how he’s busy and end it with  _‘besides, men suck’_ or somewhat tell her that he’s been fucking Mickey.

“Not really,” he admitted, “we’re fucking. I like him a lot but I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

“Why do you say that?” she questioned.

“He won’t even let me kiss him.” Ian would be lying if he said he didn’t think about the feel of Mickey’s lips against his. They were pink and pillowy, and Ian wondered if they were soft and gentle when pressed against his lips, or harsh and demanding like Mickey’s personality.

“So it’s just.. in and out?”

“Pretty much,” the redhead nodded. “He does believe that liking cock is a phase that he’s going through. But then he indirectly says being with girls feels weird and unnatural. How  _I_ felt when I was with girls.”

“It might be a phase. Maybe he’s bicurious,” she suggested. “When you think you like the same sex and you experiment with them to see if you do.” Ian had frowned at the idea of him just being an experiment, nothing else.  _You signed up for this,_ a voice said in his head,  _you dug your own grave._

“Damn,” was all he could say.

“I mean, I might be wrong,” Mandy pointed out. “He might end up totally gay and might get together with you. We never know. Just.. talk to him.”

Ian wanted to laugh. As if that was easy. Mickey was stubborn and believed that he wasn’t gay, that he was using Ian. As shitty as it made Ian feel, Ian let himself be used.

But what would Mickey do when he realizes that he doesn’t want Ian anymore?

 

****************

 

Maybe he shouldn’t have barged in, but he needed to see the dark-haired man. The string that attached them pulled them closer, even when Ian didn’t want it to. Sapphire eyes with Ian’s, while smoke from his cigarette billowed from his lips. “Ever heard of knocking, Firecrotch?” his lips pulled into a small smirk, an indication that he was only giving Ian shit.

The redhead closed the door before tugging his shirt off. “Fuck off, I’m horny.”

The older man put out his cigarette before kneeling on the bed, undoing his pants. “Tell me to fuck off one more time and you’ll only have your hand to help you out, Gallagher.”

Mickey got on his hands and knees, only for Ian to flip him over.

“The fuck, Ian?”

“I want to see you,” the redhead stated. “When I’m fucking you.” Mickey obliged, before getting the lube and handing it to the redhead. Slicking up his fingers with lube, he gently pressed one inside Mickey, the latter hissing a bit, eyebrows screwed up in pain and pleasure.

It was the most beautiful thing Ian had ever seen.

Ian slowly pulled his fingers out and undid his pants, kicking them off to the side, before thrusting into the dark-haired man. Mickey’s head rolled back, letting out small grunts and hisses in pleasure. The redhead’s thrusts became harder, faster, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

He angled his hips to touch Mickey’s prostate, the latter letting out a whine. “Fuck. You like that? You like being full of cock, huh?”

The dark-haired man went silent, scaring Ian into thinking that maybe he went too far. So it surprised him when Mickey replied with, “fucking love it.”

The redhead wanted to choke Mickey. Make Mickey’s mind go wild while cumming hard all over both of them. But he didn’t know if he was already pushing the limits, and was close to getting pushed off and the shit beaten out of him, so he refrained himself from doing it.

Ian shot his load inside Mickey with a groan, the latter not far behind as his throbbing cock shot white streams of cum. The redhead pulled out, the silence stretched over the duo was almost as painful as knives stabbing into Ian’s chest. He could feel Mickey’s walls being rebuilt, brick by brick. After Ian had managed to destroy it.

“You wanna go get some food?” the redhead questioned as he pulled his shirt back down.

“No, I wanna be left the fuck alone,” the dark-haired man snapped. “You got your rocks off, now fuck off.”

In any other day, Ian would’ve slinked back to his cave like a wounded animal, leaving Mickey alone. In any other day where Ian didn’t feel used, he would’ve respected Mickey’s wishes. But this wasn’t  _any other day;_ he didn’t want to disappear when he was an inconvenience.

“That’s it?” the redhead questioned. “Now that you got what you wanted from me, you’re gonna fucking throw me away? I’m not a goddamn toy, Mickey.”

“No one fucking said you were,” Mickey spat out.

“Then stop treating me like one.”

“I ain’t treating you like a fucking toy, Gallagher,” the shorter man responded, “you’re my fuck buddy. The fuck do you want me to do? Cuddle you after sex? Go on a date with you and buy you your meal? Quit being a fucking drama queen. Or go to a fucking club or get one of those dating apps, there are a lot of lonely fucks that’ll kill to cater to your dramatic ways.”

Ian pressed his lips together, anger boiling in his veins. “Maybe I will. I mean, at least they’re not fucking scared of kissing me.”

His pale face hardened, anger etched in his sapphire eyes. “Watch your fucking tongue.” His voice was low, but it was menacing.

“Or else what? Hm?” He walked over to the dark-haired man, their faces inches away from each other. “You’re gonna kick my ass? Do it. It still doesn’t change the fact that you’re scared of a stupid little kiss from another boy. You’re a fucking pussy.”

Anger had clouded the shorter man’s eyes. Adrenaline piled up in Ian’s veins, ready to fight back if need be. His hands curled into fists as Mickey raised his own pair of hands, grabbing the cuff of Ian’s shirt. His hands uncurled as the dark-haired man leaned in and slotted their lips together, hanging limply by his side.

Mickey’s lips were soft, molding with Ian’s, but the kiss was harsh. Ian’s fingers wove through Mickey’s black locks as their tongues twisted against each other, the other arm snaking around his waist. Mickey’s tattooed hand caressed Ian’s cheek, the callousness brushing against Ian’s freckled face.

Ian could feel his heart grow wings and beat through the ribcage and chest, trying to connect with Mickey’s own heart. But it was all temporary, ending when the dark-haired man broke the kiss.

“Call me a pussy again, and I will fucking rip your tongue out,” the older man threatened before giving Ian a chaste kiss. He took a step back and walked out to the kitchen, leaving a very dazed Ian in his wake.

He was falling in love with Mickey Milkovich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this seemed rushed, i just have so much ideas for this series! also a major thank you for my mickey for helping me out; this chapters for you bby.
> 
> also, if y'all could take time out of your days to follow me on instagram @ramen.nxxdles that'd be great! i'm an amateur photographer trying to really get myself out there. thanks in advance,
> 
> \- Gaylagher


	12. Chapter 12

Ian’s naked body was covered with a thin blanket draped over him. He was sprawled on his back when Mickey had opened his eyes and recovered from his slumber. His face was turned so Mickey could see it; every dip, every freckle, every scar.. Mickey could see them all. His pink lips were parted slightly and his chest was rising and falling steadily. He was closer to Mickey than he was the night before, Mickey’s fingers circled around his bicep.

Mickey sat up and stared at the redhead. He knew it was creepy, but he couldn’t help it. He just looked peaceful and content, with his hair sticking out in many directions. Mickey wanted to run his fingers through the head of fire, but refrained himself from doing so; he didn’t want to get burned.

The voices outside his door distracted Mickey, and he slowly crawled out of bed, and walked out of the room, closing the door slowly. “Ay, shut the fuck up.” He eyed the man sitting at their tiny table, a look of smugness clouding his facial features. He had shaggy dark brown hair the colour of bark barely brushing his broad shoulders, and eyes the colour of leaves in the summer.

“Didn’t think you’d be up so early,” she mused, “where’s Ian?”

“He crashed in my room,” the older sibling admitted.

“In _your_ room?”

“Yes, that’s what I fucking said,” Mickey rolled his eyes. “We were hanging out and he passed out on the floor.” They had actually talked until the early hours, before falling asleep. Time didn’t seem to pass by slowly when he was with the redhead. “Who’s the dude anyways?”

“He’s just a friend,” she stated, almost defensively. Mickey was—for the most part—sure that he wasn’t just Mandy’s friend, but he couldn’t care. He was fucking her husband anyways.

“Okay, well, tell _your friend_ that not everyone wakes up at the ass crack of dawn, so he better be considerate.”

“Her friend was leaving anyways,” the man butt in, standing up and giving the younger Milkovich a kiss on the cheek, strolling to the door. The _creak_ of the door announced his departure.

“Friend, huh?” Mickey questioned.

“Fuck off,” she spat out, “what I’m doing with him is none of your business, asshole. Focus on your own relationship with Lucia or whatever the fuck her name is.” Lucia was a girl that Mickey occasionally fucked, distracting him from his life and his conflicting thoughts.

“Who’s Lucia?” the redhead croaked from behind Mickey.

“Mickey’s girlfriend,” Mandy answered.

“You have a girlfriend?” Ian asked the older Milkovich. He had tried to seem nonchalant, but his voice wavered at the heavy mask of ‘I don’t give a fuck’, and his face hardened with an emotion Mickey couldn’t put his finger on.

“I don’t, Mandy’s fucking exaggerating,” Mickey denied, shaking his head. “She’s just some girl I fuck.”

“Oh,” the redhead stated, before nodding and turning his back to the dark-haired man. “Okay.” Mickey could sense that he was upset, but what was he upset about? It wasn’t like Mickey was his boyfriend. They were fucking; that was all there is to it.

Right?

 

****************

Mickey realized, after a couple of beers, in a club with music that pulsed through his veins with alcohol located in Boystown, that Ian wasn’t just a fuck buddy to him. No, he was so much more than that. Even when Mickey tried to drink away the redhead, he couldn’t. Ian was still there with his sweet self and his lopsided smile, and his contagious laugh, at the bottom of Mickey’s mug. He was still there when the dark-haired man’s head felt light and dizzy—as if the fucked up shit left his brain and left it much lighter.

Ian wasn’t fucked up, however. He was a gem in rubble, a light in the dark, something that Mickey looked forward to seeing.

_Fuck._

“Keep ‘em coming,” Mickey ordered the bartender. Even if his plan failed, he still favoured the numb, warm blanket of alcohol that draped over him. Something to make him forget. The bartender slid another beer to the dark-haired man, the latter gulping it down. The bitter and awful taste of the beer slid down Mickey’s throat and made his heavy bones much lighter.

Mickey’s head turned to his right as he watched a man sit down next to him and get a beer as well. “Seems like you had a rough day,” the man commented. Mickey eyed the man; red hair that fell over his forehead, freckles, and large brown eyes. Maybe he’d help Mickey forget Ian, just for a while.

“Seems like you want to fucking talk but can’t seem to do it without saying something stupid,” Mickey replied, taking another big gulp.

The man laughed. “Yeah, I suck at starting conversations. I’m Andy.”

“Mickey.”

“As in, Mouse?”

“Do I look like a fucking mouse to you?” the dark-haired man snapped.

“Right, my bad,” Andy stated, hands raised in surrender. “Can we start over again? You seem interesting. What brings you here?”

“I wanna get drunk and get laid. Doesn’t have to be in that order exactly,” Mickey stated.

“So, pretty much everyone here,” Andy responded.

“Does ‘everyone’ include you?”

Andy smirked. “I _am_ getting a drink and talking to you, aren’t I?”

Mickey finished the beer and turned to the smirking man. “Meet me at the back of this building in five minutes.” With Andy’s nod of confirmation, Mickey walked away, his legs filled with rubber.

The cool wind hit his flushed cheeks as his glazed eyes searched for a secluded enough spot for them to fuck. Part of Mickey wanted to leave and go back home. But the other part wanted a distraction; even if it lasted for a couple of minutes.

“Hey,” Andy greeted Mickey five minutes afterwards, before turning around and undoing his pants, the dark-haired man doing the same. But Mickey’s dick wouldn’t get hard.

Mickey stared at the red hair that looked maroon in the darkness. It was way too short. He wasn’t topping. He wasn’t the right person. He wasn’t Ian. Closing his eyes, his hand worked up and down his shaft, trying to get the life back in his dick. It wasn’t working.

“You okay back there?” Andy said, which irrationally irritated Mickey.

“Yeah, just shut the fuck up,” Mickey responded. He tried to think of how Ian felt on top of him, his lips against Mickey’s. Fuck, they were so soft and tasted sweet. He tried to think of how Ian’s cock opened him up, and how good it felt when the tip brushed his prostate.

Nothing worked.

“Fuck,” Mickey sighed, “sorry, man, I think I drank too much.” It was a lie.

“Really?” Andy groaned before pulling his pants up. “Thanks for wasting my fucking time.”

“It’s not my fucking fault my dick won’t work, asshole,” Mickey snapped. “Go find some other lonely dude that’ll bend you over.”

“Fuck you,” Andy spat out before retrieving back into the club.

Mickey kicked the wall in frustration, frustration that was bottled up. But bottles can only so much. It was at its rim and it was starting to spill over.

He hated this. He hated how Ian was always on his mind—how Ian’s slight change in behaviour can fuck Mickey’s day up. He hated how much power the redhead had over him and his emotions.

Most of all, he hated the fact that he was in love with Ian Gallagher.


	13. Chapter 13

The weather got colder and Gabe’s nose got runnier.

He wouldn’t sleep for shit, and it drained _everyone_ of their sleep—pouring it out of a bottle and ruining it. Mickey was always grumbling the next morning, before retreating back to his room and falling asleep. While the others quietly suffered.

“You know, I can take him to the doctor,” the redhead suggested as Mandy carried the sick baby. “It’s fine, I’ll call in work. Sue will understand.”

“It’s okay,” she insisted, putting a hand on Ian’s bicep. “I’m good. You stayed up all night with him. You need rest.”

“Okay,” Ian reluctantly responded, before glancing back at the specific room that he was dying to get into, next to a specific man with dark hair and blue eyes. He turned back to the blonde, who had seemingly followed Ian’s gaze. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

“And probably go out and get someone or some shit,” she suggested.

“I’m good,” the redhead nodded.

“Are you sure? You haven’t been on a date in months and—”

“Mandy,” Ian interrupted. “I love you, but you need to focus on your own fuckup of a love life and leave my fuckup of a love life alone. Okay? I’m fine. I got my hand. And I’ll be with Mickey, and we’ll be watching movies. I’ll survive.”

“Fine,” she sighed, “apparently you’re practicing celibacy or some shit.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Mandy grinned. “Oh, and I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“What’s up?”

“Does anyone else know about us?” she questioned. Ian knew what she was talking about, his heart dropping to his abdomen, burning a hole that ripped every other of his organs. Ian swallowed.

“No. Lip doesn’t know.”

“He needs to know, Ian,” she responded. “It’s been on for too long.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You’re gonna tell him today. Or I will. And he’s gonna be pissed that it took so long for him to find out if I _do_ tell him.” She shifted Gabe on her hips, before walking to the door.

“He’s gonna be pissed about that even if it came from me,” the redhead said, causing Mandy to turn around and look at him.

“He’s gonna be pissed either way, but tell him anyways,” she pointed out. “He’s an asshole but he deserves that.” She opened the door, waved goodbye to Ian, and sauntered out. Just then, Mickey’s door opened, the dark-haired man rubbing his eye.

“What was she yappin’ about?” Mickey grumbled.

“The same thing everyone’s been telling me to do,” the redhead answered.

“You still haven’t fucking done it?” Mickey questioned.

“Nope,” the redhead answered.

“The fuck are you waiting for?” The older man questioned, “pigs to fly? It’s been _months,_ Freckles. I mean.. fuck. If my ex married my best friend, I’d want to know immediately. Of course, I’d be pissed and cut them out of my life, but..” he shrugged.

“You’ve had exes?” the redhead questioned.

“The number of exes I’ve had are the same as the number of best friends I’ve had,” the raven-haired man replied.

“So, zero.”

Mickey grinned. “Exactly.” He walked over to the kitchen, pulling the fridge door open.

“So.. not even Lucia?”

“Just because she was some girl I fucked doesn’t mean I was her boyfriend,” the shorter man answered. “Why do you keep bringing her up anyways?”

Ian shrugged. “Just.. wondering.” He felt sapphire eyes stare into his head as he looked down and picked at his fingernails; as if the dark-haired man was trying to read every thought. Every thought that formed in his head out of nowhere, be shown in the light, for Mickey to see. Ian didn’t want that. So he used the only working diversion tactic he knew. “Let’s go to your room.”

Mickey grinned. “After you,” he gestured to the room, before following the redhead. The minute the door closed, Ian’s back was against the wall, Mickey’s lips pressed against his own. Tongues swirled together, creating a concoction that only they knew that existed.

Mickey was addicting. His smell, his little ticks, his body—everything. Ian couldn’t get enough, he always wanted more, more, more. The two stumbled to the bed as Mickey’s lips made down to Ian’s throat, sucking and licking at the soft, freckled skin.

Ian’s back hit the bed with a _thud,_ as he felt Mickey’s legs straddle his hips. Clothes were thrown all over the room, as Ian blindly fingered for the packet of lube, while Mickey’s lips migrated to his collarbone. “Fuck,” he managed to say as he slicked his fingers up with the slimy substance, before inserting one finger inside Mickey.

Mickey hissed into Ian’s skin, before moaning ever so softly. “I’m gonna ride the fuck out of you. Make you feel every inch of your dick inside me.”

“Do it,” the redhead replied, pulling his fingers out of Mickey’s asshole when he was loose enough.

Mickey sat up, his sapphire eyes locked on Ian’s. Ian was drowning in the ocean of Mickey Milkovich. Or maybe he was always drowning, and he mistook it for floating.

Either way, he enjoyed it.

The redhead slicked his cock up with lube before the dark-haired man eased himself onto his cock, eyebrows knitted together in pain and pleasure. “Fuck.” He rolled his hips, and Ian didn’t think he’d make it. Mickey’s creamy skin was stretched tightly over him, over mountains and dips of muscles, over the crevices. And it was scarred and freckled, but fuck, it was _perfect_ because it was him.

Ian grabbed the base of Mickey’s cock as he started moving his hand to jerk him off, both men groaning as Mickey rode him like a fucking champ. “Fuck, Ian. I l—”

Ian felt the familiar tightening in his balls, Mickey’s own cock throbbing in his hand. “I’m gonna cum,” he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut. He shot his load inside Mickey, as the latter shot his load onto Ian’s hand. Mickey lifted himself off of Ian, the latter sitting up, pulling his pants back on. “You’ve actually never been in a relationship?”

“No,” the dark-haired man answered. “Not really what I’m into.”

Ian felt a bullet bite into his heart. “What about us?”

“What do you mean, what about us?”

“What are we?”

“Fuckbuddies,” the dark-haired man answered, turning to face the redhead. “What, you think because I let you kiss me, we’re fuckin’ boyfriend and girlfriend here?”

“No, I—” Ian sighed, “I just want to know what you want us to be.”

“Why?”

“Curiosity.”

Mickey stared at the taller man, a thousand emotions touching his face but not really settling inside the pores like they usually do. It was as if they tried to, but Mickey wouldn’t let them past the mask placed on his face. Then he turned his back to the redhead, grabbing his shirt. “We’re fucking. That’s what I want. It’s less fucking complicated, plus that’s what we agreed on.”

The bullet travelled deeper inside Ian’s chest and pierced Ian’s heart. He really thought they’d go somewhere else. “Makes sense,” he responded, clearing his throat. His fingers fumbled with dressing himself as quickly as possible. “I need to go see Lip.”

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded as the redhead walked out, the tension between them releasing as he closed the door.

Maybe things were better this way.

Maybe.

 

****************

Ian’s stomach tied itself in several knots, knots that couldn’t be untied no matter how much Ian tried. He needed to get this over with, he knew it. But it didn’t stop him from glancing at the door and coming up with an excuse to leave as soon as possible.

“Hey, sweetface,” Fiona said as she touched Ian’s shoulder. “You okay? You seem on edge today.”

“Yeah, I’m just..” he sighed, “having a rough day today.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she questioned.

“No, not really,” the redhead answered. “When’s Lip getting home?”

“In about five minutes,” she responded. “Can you sit tight for five minutes?”

Ian exhaled through his mouth slowly, as if he was forcing the anxiety and his racing heart to leave with the carbon dioxide. Ian’s heart didn’t jump out his throat and squeeze itself out of his mouth, however, and his stomach got busy tying another knot in itself. If only Mickey was here.

Fuck. He couldn’t stop thinking of the dark-haired man and how he’d ease Ian. How his presence oozed out comfort for the redhead. How he’d defend Ian against Lip if Lip did yell at Ian.

The _click_ of the door opened and Lip strolled in, his eyes landing on the redhead immediately and his hard expression softened into a smile. “Hey! I didn’t think you’d be here. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah,” Ian grinned and rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs. “Can I.. speak privately with you?”

“In a bit, man, how are you? How are things going?” he walked over to the kitchen. “You want something to drink? Or eat? We have leftover pizza from last night but I don’t know if—”

“Lip, I need to talk to you. Now,” the redhead interrupted. “It’s important.”

Lip looked at his little brother in surprised but nodded. “Okay. Let’s go outside. I need a smoke anyway.” The two brothers walked out of the house, Lip leaning against the side of the door as Ian wrung his hands together. _This is it. You need to do this now._

“Okay, uh, there’s not really an easy way of saying this, so I’ll just get right to it,” Ian started, clearing his throat. Lip nodded for Ian to continue, concern written all over his face. “You know how I said I was married?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, um..” he swallowed. Why didn’t he say this before? “It’s to Mandy.”

Lip looked at his little brother in surprise before laughing. His laugh died down like fire when he noticed that Ian wasn’t showing the same amusement. “Wait. You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re gay,” he said.

“I know, but Mandy needed the money for her kid because her boyfriend just fucking left her and—”

“You thought _marrying my ex girlfriend_ was a good fucking idea?” Lip questioned, anger etching on his face. His hands curled into fists.

“I can fucking explain,” Ian started.

“How long?” Lip questioned. “How long has this.. fucking thing been going on?”

Ian paused. “A couple months?”

“A couple months and _you didn’t fucking tell me_?” Lip cursed, hands connecting with Ian’s chest to shove him back. “You married her behind my back and waited for months before you even told me?”

“It was for fucking benefits!” Ian exclaimed. “I was helping my best fucking friend out with money!”

“I don’t _fucking care_ why you did it!” Lip exclaimed back, before taking a few deep breaths. “You need to fucking leave. Now.”

Ian grit his teeth, an ugly mixture of emotions bubbling inside him. He turned his back and walked down the steps, the hotness of his older brother’s back burning holes into him. And it ached. It ached so bad.


	14. Chapter 14

Mickey hated being fearful. He hated it when fear would heavily impact his choices, but he wouldn’t do anything when it would take the wheel and drive them off a cliff. He’d just close his eyes and hope that it’d be over soon.

Fear had chosen to take over when Ian asked him what they were. It had chosen to hurt the redhead when, really, that wasn’t what Mickey wanted at all. In fact, that was the _opposite_ of what Mickey wanted. But he still closed his eyes and hoped it’d be over soon.

Only a couple days after Ian had told Lip about his marriage with Mandy, he had ended things with Mickey. Mickey saw it coming, however, long before they even had problems. Everything good happening in Mickey’s life had a short life span. The horrible shit would have much, much longer life spans.

But it was whatever, right? It wasn’t like they were dating—Mickey just wanted to get a quick fix without travelling all the way to Boystown; or even leaving his house. It shouldn’t affect Mickey that much. Only it did.

When Mickey would try to talk to the redhead, the redhead would give short answers, and then leave when he was done talking. That would go on for a couple weeks, until the redhead completely ignored Mickey; he wouldn’t even look up when Mickey would walk into the room.

Mickey knew _exactly_ what he was doing, because that was a tactic that he’d use on people all the damn time. Act distant in hopes that they leave you the fuck alone. Mickey got the message, and he stopped talking. Even though he wanted to update the redhead on his mundane life. Or hear the redhead talk about what happened at his job, which was much more interesting.

As the days dragged by, Mickey’s life seemed empty. Like his time was a bottle and water wasn’t filled all the way yet. Like someone took a sip and left it half empty, and didn’t bother to finish. It was achingly hollow, but Mickey made his bed. He knew it was going to happen eventually. It didn’t matter if he didn’t want it to happen.

A month had passed by until the redhead made conversation again. Mickey walked in to the house, and his eyes landed on the emerald ones that he missed so much. “Hey,” Ian greeted.

“Hi.”

“I was at work today,” the redhead started.

“Yeah?” Mickey probed, taking a seat.

“And this coworker of mine said that his ex moved out of his apartment. She was done taking her shit out of the place, and that he had an extra room. So.. we talked and long story short, I’m moving out.”

Mickey swallowed, looking away. “Where is it?”

“North side,” the redhead explained. “It’s closer to work. Gets me time to just sleep, you know?”

“When are you moving out?”

“Next week,” he confirmed. “Maybe I can look for a place for Mandy and Gabe to stay, you know. It’s getting kinda.. crowded here and Mandy made it _very_ clear that she didn’t want Terry within a ten feet radius of Gabe.”

“Good for you,” the older man stated. “Good luck.” He could feel his walls being hoisted up against the only guest he had inside him. Ian opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and shook his head; as if he thought it was stupid himself.

“Thanks,” he said before getting up and walking to Mandy’s room.

The day Ian moved out, Mickey was outside. He had come home to no redhead at all, only the somber faces of his siblings. “Ian left, huh?”

“Yup,” Iggy replied before shoving another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

The heavy weight of sadness sat on his chest before he pushed it off. “Good,” he stated, walking back into his room, disregarding Mandy’s pair of eyes watching his every move.

Fear had made him shut up. It clamped his mouth shut with glue ten times stronger than any other glue he ever experienced. It made him run away and hide when all he wanted to do was stay. It made him push away the only person he genuinely cared for.

So he did what he did best; bottle his feelings up and hope it won’t come spilling out anytime soon.

And it was hard, because sometimes Ian would come by to pick Gabe up to stay with him for a couple days, or drop Gabe off. Or maybe he just wanted to talk to Mandy. And they’d see each other, and it would be the awkward head nods and the small talks that would go nowhere.

“Place is great,” Ian was saying one day as Mickey gulped down alcohol. “Great view, really spacious.”

“Great,” Mickey responded. “Can we talk?”

“We are talking,” the redhead pointed out.

“No, not this bullshit small talk. I frankly don’t give a fuck about your spacious place with a great fucking view.” Mickey shook his head. “You know what I want to talk about.”

Ian paused, before slowly opening his mouth to speak. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Fine,” the redhead said, “talk.”

“I’m.. sorry, okay?” Mickey apologized. “About that day.”

“An apology isn’t gonna do shit.”

“Then what the fuck do you want me to do?”

“Maybe try to forget that it all happened?” the redhead shrugged. “Look, that was a fucking mistake. For a number of reasons. You and I wanted two different things and we weren’t willing to cooperate. I’m trying to move on and it’s not fucking helping if you bring it up or act awkward around me. It’s already difficult as it is.”

“Maybe if you fucking waited, I would’ve wanted the same thing as you, ever thought of that?” Mickey questioned, eyebrows raising. “Maybe I changed my mind already. Maybe I want to be more, now.”

“No,” the redhead answered, “but I don’t want that uncertainty. I don’t want to be lead on by someone who isn’t even okay with his sexuality.”

“I would’ve changed my mind!”

“In what? A year? Two years?” he shook his head. “I can’t wait that long. I can’t waste my time on a ‘maybe’ and hope for the best Mickey.” He got up. “It’d be better if you just.. pretended it didn’t happen.” He glanced at his phone. “I gotta go.” Mickey nodded, sniffing and touching the side of his nose with his knuckle. “I’ll see you later?”

“Sure, whatever.”

Ian nodded and walked through the door way of the rickety house. The heavy weight of sadness sat on Mickey’s chest, but instead of it being a little ball, it was steel. And it crushed his heart.

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe they were meant to be temporary. Maybe Ian was supposed to be Mickey’s chapter and not his whole book.

However, no amount of reasoning stopped Mickey’s vision from blurring, and his eyes being full of water. The heels of his hands pushed into his eyes to stop the flow, but it was already creating rivers down the dried land of his face.

Fear was a stupid, stupid thing that chases happiness away from you.


	15. Chapter 15

Ian thought, that maybe if he removed traces of Mickey from his life, he could wipe the feelings away. But they didn’t go away, no matter how hard Ian scrubbed, and how long he tried to. Those emotions festered into his mind and they weren’t going to let go.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t try. He went on date after date, trying to find someone else, but he couldn’t. The more he searched, the less he was successful in actually finding a partner.

But then he started seeing Michael, and Michael was sweet. He made Ian smile and surprised him with sweet gestures. It made Ian feel guilty when he wished it was Mickey doing them instead of him, so he stopped seeing him; because it wasn’t fair to Michael for Ian to hope for another man. So Ian stayed single, and hoped that he’d be able to chip away the emotions slowly, and hopefully it’d leave his being entirely so he can move on.

Six months went by and his emotions still were there, strong as ever. It wasn’t fucking fair because Ian _moved out_ of the house to prevent himself from falling anymore. He had had enough of being lead on, guided to nothing, especially by the man he cared for immensely. That was justified. Leaving Mickey was justified. Right?

Sometimes Ian would drop by at the Milkovich house to get Gabe or hang out with Mandy, and he would notice Mickey was absent. And the absence was strong—it stared at him with wide eyes, face written with the expression of _‘you did this’,_ and it’d keep staring even when Ian was back at the apartment, eyes refusing to close because his mind was a mess.

“I’m gonna be home late,” Ian reminded Scott—his coworker, who was gracious enough to let Ian live with him—who nodded.

“Right. Night shift?”

“Yup,” Ian sighed, “twelve hours.” Scott chuckled and Ian watched the older man carefully. His ex girlfriend had left him recently, and he seemed to be in better emotional health than the redhead was at the moment. “Hey, Scott.”

“What’s up?”

“If you don’t mind me asking..” the redhead hesitated, “why’d you break up with your ex?”

Scott cleared his throat and licked his lips. “We wanted two different things. I wanted to marry, and she didn’t. I wanted kids, she didn’t. So after a really bad fight, we ended things.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Ian responded, sympathy coiling around him. He knew how that felt. “How are you doing?”

“Honestly?” Scott said, “really fucking bad. Everything reminds me of her, and it’s like I’m going fucking insane. You know?”

“Yeah, actually,” the redhead responded, “I’m, uh.. kind of going through the same thing.” He offered Scott a small smile.

“Oh shit, with who? Michael?”

“No, not him,” he responded dismissively. “This guy named Mickey. He wasn’t really my ex boyfriend since we weren’t in a relationship. We were.. friends with benefits, I guess. And then I got attached, wanted more. He didn’t want more. He tried to.. get me back once I guess? But I didn’t want to.”

“Because you didn’t want to be lead on? You didn’t want to hope for something that might not happen?”

“Yeah, exactly!”

“That’s completely reasonable,” Scott nodded. “And you’re trying to move on from this.. Mickey guy, right?”

“I tried, but it wasn’t working.”

Scott nodded again, and then proceeded to muse, his thick eyebrows knitted together. “Honestly, I could give you a bunch of shit to work out. ‘Give him another chance’, ‘forget him and put yourself out there’, ‘stay single for a bit until you’re sure you’re over him’, et cetera. And—this is gonna sound cliché as fuck—but I think you should go with your gut. Listen to yourself. What do _you_ want to do?”

“I want to forget him,” the redhead said. But as he said those words, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or Scott.

“You don’t sound sure,” Scott commented. “Is that what you _really_ want? I mean, you don’t have to tell me. And you don’t have to make a decision right this minute. Think about it. Take your time.” He patted Ian’s shoulder. “My old ass will probably be passed out by the time you get home. Just try not to be too loud, I have work tomorrow.”

Ian did think about it, for a week. He thought about it day and night; when he was eating, working, or doing nothing. He tried listening to himself, but he’s always ignored himself. He’s ignored what he knew he wanted to do, with what he thought he _should_ do.

By the end of the week, he still was confused. So he texted the only other Milkovich that knew him better than anyone else; Mandy:

_Hey, you free tonight?_

 

****************

Ian stared at the rickety door, swallowing the lump of anxiety in his throat. He wanted to run and pretend that his conversation with Scott never happened, but why be miserable? He was tired of being anything but happy, and he deserved to be with someone he wanted to be with, damn it. Even if it didn’t work out, he could say he tried.

For once, his mind accepted that trying was enough.

The door opened and Mandy stood in front of it, smiling at her best friend. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian greeted back.

“Come inside,” she suggested, “no one’s home except for Gabe and I.” She stepped aside to let the redhead in the house.

“How is Gabe?”

“He’s teething, so he’s cranky. All the fucking time,” she told the redhead. “Which means he keeps everyone up at night with his crying.”

“I could tell you weren’t getting sleep by your dark circles,” the redhead commented.

Mandy laughed. “Yeah. You want a drink? I got lattes from the Starbucks down the street from my workplace.”

“Starbucks?” the redhead raised an eyebrow.

“Fuck off, the expresso shots get me through the fucking day of grabby hands and snotty customers,” she said. “And now, a crying kid. You’re gonna have fun when it’s your turn.”

“Can’t wait,” the redhead laughed. “Hey.. how’s Mickey?”

“He’s the same,” she shrugged, “why?”

“Just askin’.”

“He does seem in a shittier mood than usual,” she commented, “he takes it out on us. I figured it was because of Gabe but he didn’t mention Gabe at all. He’s either out getting high or some shit or in his room.”

“Oh.. shit,” the redhead laughed weakly before clearing his throat. “Hey, Mands, I need to tell you something. Mickey and I—”

“You were fucking?” She questioned.

“Yeah. Wait, how’d you know?”

“I’m not fucking stupid,” the blonde answered, sitting on the couch. “I’ve noticed how you guys would disappear into his room from time to time and come out looking all flushed and shit. I’ve noticed how you’d sleep in Mickey’s room more often than not. Sit,” she patted the seat next to him, “the fuck’s going on with you and him?”

So Ian sat down and filled her in, told her what he told Scott, and she listened, her sapphire eyes never leaving Ian’s while sipping on her latte. “And.. yeah,” Ian said lamely when he finished. “I talked to Scott about this, but he pretty much just told me to do what I want. And I’m still fucking confused.”

“You love him?” she questioned.

Ian didn’t hesitate when he opened his mouth. “Yeah.”

“Then go for him,” she shrugged. “This ‘moving on’ shit isn’t helping. This ‘staying single’ shit isn’t working either. I know it’s only been, like, six months, but if you still feel the same way as you did six months ago, I think you should stop looking for other people to try to forget about him.”

“You think so?” he questioned.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “and if this fucks everything up, then at least you can say you.. tried. You know? You’re gonna regret not trying so bad years down the line when you’re miserable and alone, and he’s with someone else. There would be no ‘what if’s, just ‘I tried and it wasn’t meant to be’.”

Ian nodded, leaning over and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best wife.”

The blonde grinned. “I know. You’re a great husband.” She sighed. “It’d be great if you were straight.”

“It’d be better if you were a man,” the redhead pointed out and sipped his latte. “Fuck, this is good.”

“I know.”

 

****************

Ian’s feet were tired, as he walked from place to place, areas where he thought Mickey might be when he wanted to be alone. He couldn’t find him. The redhead could’ve texted Mickey but his phone was dead. Besides, it wasn’t like Mickey would answer if he _did_ call or text.

Ian had tried the Alibi, any other bars, the old buildings where Mickey would go up to shoot, or to be alone, everywhere he thought of. He thought of going to the Fairy Tail and then The White Swallow as last resorts before he gave up for the night. After an hour of looking for Mickey at the Fairy Tail, he walked over to The White Swallow, hope still there in his chest. It was battered and being eaten away by doubt, but it was still there.

The stench of sweat and alcohol stuck in the humid air and made it heavier. The pulsing music gave Ian headaches, and the men around him reeked of loneliness and desperation. Ian knew why he avoided places like these after he met Mickey. They only looked good when you were either drunk or high—or both.

His eyes scanned the place; over men’s heads and in every corner they could reach. Everywhere. He walked over to the bar, and smiled at Josh. “Hey,” he yelled over the loud music.

“Ian! Hi!” Josh greeted from ear to ear. “Haven’t seen you in a while, how you been?”

“Good,” the ginger answered, “listen, I’m looking for—”

“Sit down, man, I’ll get you Coke,” Josh interrupted, turning his back to Ian, who grudgingly sat down. His eyes raked the place again, thinking about the first time he had seen the dark-haired man in the club. He remembered how surprised he was, how he told himself that he didn’t give a fuck but he did.

“You’re still married?” Josh questioned, sliding the glass to the redhead.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ian answered, glancing down at the ring on his left hand. “Have you—”

“We have so much to catch up on!” Josh exclaimed. “I have a boyfriend. He’s treating me like a king, the sex is great. My life’s finally okay, you know?”

“That’s great,” the redhead responded distractedly, “I’m not here for chitchat, you have my fucking number if you want to update me on your life, Josh. I’m looking for a man. Kinda short, black hair, blue eyes, pale as fuck.”

“That’s a pretty generic description,” Josh replied, “I’ve seen a lot of pasty dudes with black hair and blue eyes.”

Ian sighed. “He had knuckle tattoos. He’s kind of a jerk, easily annoyed, glaring all the time. Swears a lot.”

“Oh, him!” Josh nodded.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s been coming here for months now,” Josh replied. Ian’s heart thumped against his ribcage, squealing to be let out and to fly away from grabby hands and the desperation in the room.

“Was he here tonight?”

“Yeah, he was,” the brunet nodded, “you would’ve seen him, like, five minutes ago.”

“You know where he went?”

“To the bathroom, maybe?” Josh shrugged. “Or he went outside to fuck or take a smoke break. You sure you don’t want your coke?”

“No, thanks.” The redhead placed a couple of loose bills on the counter, before getting up. “And hey. It’s great that you have someone that treats you well. I’d like to meet him one day.”

Josh grinned. “I’d like to show him to you.”

Ian smiled and walked to the bathroom, his heart fluttering about in his body and his body shaking for reasons he didn’t know. But when he opened the door he didn’t see the dark-haired man. He didn’t know what he exactly expected, but he didn’t want to be greeted by a grimy bathroom in return.

Maybe Mickey already left. Maybe he was with someone, bent over. Maybe he was passed out somewhere. The possibilities were endless.

Ian kicked the wall in frustration, his vision was blurring until all the colours mixed together. He didn’t know where one colour ended and the other one started. He didn’t care.

His feet ached, screaming for the redhead to sit down and rest. His heart ached for him not listening to it earlier. This pain made his eyes water and spill salty lakes out of his desert of a face. If Ian had realized this earlier this wouldn’t have happened.

Raising a shaking hand to his face, he wiped the tears and turned to the sink, turning the water on. He washed his face with cold water in hopes that maybe the coolness will cure the pain inside him. His face dripped of water, his head bowed and he groaned when the flush of the toilet the _creak_ of a stall door opening filled the bathroom. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Gallagher?” Ian’s ears perked to the voice, as his head turned to meet with the pair of sapphire eyes he missed so, so much.

He had found Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i promised myself that i'll update two chapters today, but this one was long(ish) and i'm beat. forgive me y'all, i'll be back tomorrow
> 
> \- Gaylagher


	16. Chapter 16

Heartbreak manifested itself into different ways, see. There was the classic crying until the well in your eyes dries up, so you’re left with this hurt in your chest. Heartbreak wasn’t even comparable to a broken bone or a gash. Those injuries don’t even come anywhere close to heartbreak. No, it was like a small cut on your finger that you had no idea how it happened but it was just _there._ And man, did it hurt.

There was anger. And the anger wasn’t fire, or a tornado, or a tsunami. It wasn’t something that would be over. It was like lava and you were the volcano, about to erupt any given time. The anger would always stick by you until you thought it was your fucking friend, and maybe it was; but friendships aren’t always good, healthy ones.

Mickey was used to the anger and the pain. He had felt it all his life. The one that bothered him the most was the numbness. His walls were stronger, his heart was more protected, and that blocked out any emotion that he felt. And sometimes emotions would build up and knock down walls, but that was once every few weeks. Numbness was what bothered him.

Every week, Mandy would announce that Ian’s coming over to pick Gabe up, drop the kid off, or hang out with her. Every week, Mickey would stay out all day. He would mutter an excuse, sometimes, when he cared enough to give one. Most of the time, he shrugged and left the house and that was that. It wasn’t like they could stop him, anyways.

Mandy entered Mickey’s room one night, sitting on the edge of the bed while the older Milkovich pulled his legs closer to his body to give her space. “Heard about your girlfriend beating you up,” she said.

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Grace wasn’t my girlfriend, and she didn’t beat me up. She shoved me and I didn’t do shit about it.” Grace had been another girl Mickey had fucked a couple times to confirm his denial of his sexuality, but when he tried to get her to fuck off, she showed up at his door and screamed at him how it ‘wasn’t fair’ that he was leaving her and that she ‘deserved an explanation’.

“You should’ve punted the bitch,” Mandy commented. “Or at least shoved her back.”

“Fuck no, why would I do that?”

“Self defense?”

“I don’t hit women,” the dark-haired man responded, “I’m not Terry.”

Mandy stared at him before nodding. “What’s up with you and Ian?”

“Nothing’s up with us,” Mickey answered nonchalantly, even though his heart ached at the thought of the redhead. Did he have a boyfriend? Was he over Mickey? Did he even _want_ to see Mickey? It was like hitting your small cut against the corner of a table. “It’s none of your fucking business anyways.”

“It _is_ my fucking business actually,” she argued, “considering that Ian’s my best friend and my husband. Are you gonna tell me or am I going to have to talk to Ian about it? I mean, I already figured you were more than just buddies.”

Of course Mandy knew. She wasn’t a fucking imbecile like the rest of their siblings. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about,” the younger Milkovich had said. “What happened?”

Mickey stood up. “I don’t have to tell you. If you wanna know so fucking bad, ask Freckles on one of your playdates.”

“Maybe I will,” she stated, “he’s coming over tomorrow anyways.”

“Good!” Mickey exclaimed, “that’s giving me a fucking excuse not to be in this shitty place tomorrow!”

Mandy rolled her sapphire eyes before leaving the room, making sure to slam the door shut on her way out. Mickey exhaled through his nose, irritated, before grabbing his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, sitting by his open window. The smell of nicotine when he blew the smoke out calmed his senses, made his room smell oddly comforting.

Mickey didn’t exactly know why he didn’t want to see the redhead, he just knew that he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready to see the man who didn’t even give him a second chance. Everyone deserves at least a second chance, right? To prove themselves that they’ve changed?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he smoked the last bits of his cigarette before putting it out and flicking it out of the window.

The lingering smell of cigarette smoke didn’t seem comforting as he stared at the ceiling in the darkness. It seemed to choke him. Sleep finally did sit on his eyelids until they were closed, as he fell into the pit of unconsciousness, where his life was okay and he wasn’t miserable.

 

****************

“Hey,” the brunet bartender greeted Mickey as he sat down in his usual spot. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

“Didn’t think you’d fucking notice,” the dark-haired man answered. “Don’t you have other customers to tend to instead of talking to me?” he raised an eyebrow before mumbling ‘the usual’ to the bartender, digging his hand into his pockets to place money on the countertop.

“My other customers aren’t as nearly as interesting as your grumpy ass,” the brunet teased, “I’m Josh.”

“Alright, _Josh,_ ” Mickey responded, “can you leave me the fuck alone and make me my drink, please? I’m not here to befriend anyone. If I wanted to, I’d fucking leave my house and _talk_ to people.”

“Right,” he smiled, “gotcha.” He made the dark-haired man the usual drink, while Mickey’s eyes raked the club. It wasn’t his ideal place to meet up with men, but it was good enough—with people packed into a somewhat huge place, Mickey was sure to get someone.

He just had to make sure he didn’t have whiskey dick or some shit.

His ocean blue eyes landed on redheads more often than not; as if his mind was trying to find pieces of Ian in other men. But you couldn’t tear someone to pieces, shove them into other people and pretend that they were exactly what you wanted. Not when you craved for someone else that was whole, not empty people with pieces that didn’t really fit inside them.

One drink turned into two drinks, turned into five drinks, turned into a number of drinks—so many that he had lost count of the drinks—until Mickey’s head felt thirty pounds lighter and his stomach sloshed with the toxic contents inside it. Josh was polite enough to deal with Mickey asking for more, even though his expression would become more and more concerned. However, it took Mickey _very long_ to get wasted, and he knew his limit.

“Are you sure you want more, man?” Josh questioned as Mickey beckoned for another glass.

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have fucking asked for more,” Mickey answered, before chugging the alcohol down. He slowly shifted his weight to his feet as he stood up, staggering to the washroom. His legs felt like rubber and jello; not being able to function as actual legs made of bones and muscle.

He pushed open the door, and walked into a stall, the room spinning on its axis and not stopping. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes, trying to stop the spinning. He could hear the faint _creak_ of the bathroom door opening, and soft panting from a man. A _thud_ echoed in the empty bathroom, before the dark-haired man heard soft sobs and sniffles. However, the crying ceased shortly and the man turned on the water, before completely shutting it off. Silence stretched the grimy bathroom before Mickey pulled himself upright, flushing so it seemed like he wasn’t merely hanging out in the bathroom, and opened the door.

He was greeted with a back, and red hair that looked orange in the fluorescent lights. A glimpse from the mirror indicated that the man’s eyes were closed, shaking his head softly. Mickey recognized the face. He recognized the man. _It was Ian._

“Gallagher?” Mickey slurred. Mickey could see the ginger raise his head and turned to Mickey, water still dripping down his face.

“Mickey. Hi,” he responded.

“The fuck are you doing here?” the dark-haired man replied before staggering to the sink.

“Are you drunk?”

“No shit, it’s a fucking club with alcohol. Of course I’d be drunk.” He stared at the sink as he turned the water on. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I was looking for you,” the redhead replied. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Mickey grit his teeth, chewing up the words that explained how much he missed the redhead. “Why were you looking for me?” he put liquid soap on his hands, eyes still anywhere but in those emerald ones.

Ian sighed. “I wanted to apologize.”

“What’s there to be fuckin’ sorry about?” Mickey questioned, finally raising his eyes to meet the redhead’s.

“For fucking up what we had. I thought moving on from you was what I should do because we weren’t going where I wanted us to go. It was fucking stupid. I didn’t want to wait, either. I mean, I was never really patient, but I’m willing to change. To wait, to do whatever it takes for you to come back to me.” He took one step closer to the shorter man, who turned his water off, lips parted to search for words that his intoxicated mind couldn’t figure out. “I’m sorry.”

He tried to string words together to form coherent sentences that could explain how he felt. But how do you explain your heart expanding ten times its size and growing wings that fluttered about inside you? How do you explain that a couple words were the glue of your broken pieces and made up for everything you had to go through the past couple of months?

He grabbed the back of Ian’s neck and kissed him, their limbs arms tangled around each other and fingers either grabbing skin so hard that it was going to leave prints, or curling themselves around waists and hair, itching to touch each other again. He didn’t know where he ended and where Ian started—they both molded into one person as their tongues twisted against each other.

Their legs carried them to a stall, Mickey’s fingers fumbling to lock the door before reluctantly peeling his lips off of Ian’s to turn around, pulling his pants down around his thighs, the sound of the redhead undoing his zipper turning him on even more. He needed Ian in every way possible.

Ian’s fingers made their way inside Mickey’s mouth, a silent command for Mickey to suck, and the latter happily obliged, getting his fingers as wet as possible. The redhead pulled his fingers out of Mickey’s mouth, slowly inserting the wet digits inside Mickey, his lips placed against the side of Mickey’s neck.

The older man hissed in pain and pleasure, biting his lip. The soft feeling of Ian’s lips nipping against his neck as he prepped Mickey felt too good to be true. He was afraid that he might pinch himself to confirm that it wasn’t a wet dream. Ian pulled his fingers out, peeling his lips off of the pasty skin when Mickey was loose enough and got his cock wet enough to thrust into the dark-haired man.

“Fuck,” Mickey grunted, eyes closed. The redhead reattached his lips to the soft skin, licking and sucking at his neck, low moans and grunts muffled by the skin. Mickey’s chipped nails dug into the wall as Ian’s tip brushed against his prostate, face screwed up in pleasure that consumed his whole body. Ian’s hand snaked around and jerked the dark-haired man off, meeting the same speed as his hips.

“I’m gonna cum,” Ian announced as Mickey felt the same warm liquid inside him. The dark-haired man was teetering on the edge of climax, as he came all over Ian’s hand and the wall. Ian’s forehead touched Mickey’s shoulder as he pulled out, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Mickey was in too deep to back out and leave the redhead. He needed the redhead; Ian was a sustenance, and Mickey was dying of hunger after not having any real food for years. He was ready to have his food. He was ready to be with Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this was shitty! i am not feeling great, i had two vaccine shots and it made me sore everywhere.
> 
> \- Gaylagher


	17. Chapter 17

“Here, let’s get you home,” Ian said, grabbing Mickey’s arm and pulling him out of the grimy bathroom, the loud music banging his head with a hammer. His brain slammed against his cranium painfully, until it couldn’t anymore. “How much did you even have to drink?”

“Not that much,” Mickey answered.

“You’re fucking wasted.”

“I’m not _exactly_ wasted,” Mickey argued, “I’m _almost_ wasted.”

Ian rolled his eyes, pushing the door open to be greeted by the cool night air. His eyes raked for any taxis perched on the side of the road, and zeroed on one, walking slower than usual.

“Everything’s fucking dizzy.”

“That’s cause you got ‘almost wasted’.” He climbed into the taxi and gave the driver his address, after Mickey climbed in after him. The soft _hum_ of the taxi filled the silence, Mickey’s eyes glued to the window next to him. Ian could see the slight reflection in the glass window. “You okay?”

“Hm?” Mickey questioned. “Yeah, man, I’m fine.”

“You know,” Ian paused, “I wasn’t lying about anything I said before. I meant everything I said.” Anxiety coiled around him as he thought of the morning after, with Mickey waking up in his apartment. Will he regret this night? Is he going to push Ian away again, and build his walls back up again so Ian couldn’t get in? Ian couldn’t go without him, even if he tried to.

“I know,” the dark-haired man replied. He turned his head to look at the ginger, lights illuminating and rolling off his skin as the car drove past buildings and streetlights. He was way too beautiful to exist. Ian’s heart fluttered in his ribcage and his stomach dropped down to his lower abdomen.

“You know?”

“You can’t lie for shit, Gallagher,” Mickey explained. “Even my drunk ass would know you’re bullshitting.”

Ian laughed. “You’re a fucking dick.”

The dark-haired man smiled, wrinkles crinkling around his eyes. “About fucking time that we ran into each other again, right?”

“It’s not running into each other if I was trying to find you.”

“Fuck off, I’m drunk and I don’t know what logic is,” Mickey defended himself.

“Alright,” Ian smiled, “yeah, about time. Sorry it took, like.. half a fucking year.” It had seemed longer; the days would drag on by without Mickey. As if time slowed down to make Ian register the hurt that was manifesting itself inside him.

The driver pulled up at the glass building, looking expectantly at the duo. Ian fumbled for money and passed it over to the driver before climbing out, the dark-haired man following suit. The heavy feeling of weariness crushed him, as they both walked into the elevator. Ian slumped against the wall, the duo in silence. Maybe Mickey was tired too. Maybe he didn’t know what else to say.

After getting out of the elevator and fumbling for his keys, he unlocked and opened the door. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’m fucking beat. Let’s go to my room. Scott’s probably gonna come home late, I don’t need your drunk ass making noise at night.”

“I’m a quiet person, fuck you,” Mickey stated but followed the redhead anyways, sitting on the bed. “I was gonna sleep anyways.” He pulled his shirt over his head before laying on the right side of the bed.

“Don’t puke on my fucking bed,” Ian warned him before walking to the bathroom, wetting his toothbrush and brushing his teeth. The older man replied with something incoherent. Ian walked over to his room again, greeted by Mickey fast asleep. Crawling in bed next to him, he draped his arm around Mickey’s waist, inhaling Mickey’s scent before closing his eyes.

Mickey had fit in his arms like a puzzle piece; snug and warm, his soft, freckled skin against Ian’s heart. Ian didn’t ever want to let go of the man again.

Closing his eyes, he drifted off into unconsciousness, where his dreams were as perfect as reality was at that moment.

****************

 

Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the quiet apartment. Everything seemed to be calm, quiet.. peaceful. Morning was here to gently kiss everything awake, and bring everything from the dead back to life to live another day yet again.

Away from the sunlight, and morning, and the start of a new day, were Ian and Mickey, fast asleep. Ian’s consciousness slipped back in him as his groggy mind slowly took in its surroundings. He could feel a bare back against his chest, as his arm was draped around another man’s waist, fingers curled around the man’s wrist. Lifting his head ever so gently, the redhead peered at the man he was holding, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. There Mickey was, fast asleep, in Ian’s arms.

Last night wasn’t a dream. Last night _happened._ Ian’s attempt wasn’t fruitless. The redhead nuzzled his head in Mickey’s neck, inhaling deeply. The smell of cigarettes and cologne filled his nose and coursed through his veins. Slowly peeling his body away from the older man’s, he sat up. He invited Mickey over the night prior, the duo too tired to do anything but fall asleep.

Ian carefully got out of the bed, brushing his teeth and taking his medicine before he forced himself to eat. He was way too ecstatic to sit still and do his morning routine. He was way too happy to act calm.

Shortly after, the redhead heard Mickey walk to the kitchen, the latter rubbing his eyes. “It’s fucking nice not having a crying baby wake you up in the ass crack of dawn.” His sapphire eyes travelled around the apartment. “You were right, it is big. View ain’t as great as you made it out to be, though.”

“I guess so,” the redhead shrugged. “So.. about last night. You remember what happened, right?”

“What part?” the older man questioned. “The part where I get really fucking drunk or the part where we fuck in a dirty bathroom stall like a couple of horny fourteen year olds?”

“In my defense, I haven’t fucked in, like, six months,” the redhead responded, hands raised in defense.

“Dry spell?” Mickey licked the corner of his mouth.

“You could say that, yeah,” Ian shrugged. “So.. was this a one time thing?”

“We can’t be a one time thing, man, you already know that,” Mickey pointed out. He was right. Mickey was Ian’s craving, an itch he needed to scratch in the back of his brain. Ian couldn’t get enough.

“So we’re just fucking again?” the redhead questioned, watching as Mickey sits on the chair of the dining table.

“Is that what you want?”

“You know what I want,” Ian responded, chewing on his lower lip. “It doesn’t really matters anyways.”

“The fuck it doesn’t,” Mickey countered, before pulling his pack of cigarettes out, raising his sapphire eyes back to the redhead.

“So.. we’re a couple?” Ian said. His voice raised a pitch at the end, turning his statement into a question.

“Of course we are,” Mickey answered. “I’m kinda rusty at this relationship thing. Haven’t been in one since I was fourteen.” Ian smiled at the dark-haired man, before dropping a kiss on his head, tousling it slightly.

“Chocolate or blueberry?” Ian questioned.

“Chocolate,” Mickey answered, “and coffee, my head’s being a little shit.” The redhead obliged, busying himself to make chocolate pancakes for his boyfriend.

Boyfriend. It felt good calling Mickey that. Like a thick blanket on the coldest of days, or hot chocolate warming you up while the _pitter patter_ of rain hit the pavement outside. It felt good being content with how life turned out to be, because sometimes life was a bitch and would dangle what you want in your face, but never let you have it, no matter how hard you worked to get it. Other times, it pities you and grudgingly gives you what you want. Ian had been busting his ass and hurting for the one thing he wanted; Mickey.

He didn’t know what the future held for him in its hands, but he didn’t really care at the moment. The present was too good to dream of things that were yet to happen to him.

It felt good to feel pleased with the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this was shitty, i was just wrapping things up for this story. there will be a sequel for this series that'll be posted tomorrow or friday!
> 
> anyways, thank you all for reading this fic! it started as an idea of doing something different to a fic that i enjoyed writing! thank you to my mickey for giving me ideas and helping me write! this fic wouldn't exist without you b. like i said, the sequel will be up either tomorrow or friday. 
> 
> \- Gaylagher


End file.
